Nyogashutouka
by Nevervana
Summary: Like a moth flying into the lamp's fire, I feel like I'm just inadvertently drawn to trouble. For example, dimension-hopping after being hit by a bus and, in my quest to get home, becoming "Ga," the wanted S-ranked criminal. How did this happen again...?
1. What Hell?

(A/N) – I know, I know, I know, I keep starting up new projectswhen I'm halfway through others, but this damned plotbunny…! I still intend to get through Snake's Blood, I promise! It's just that writing it to the episodes is so tedious and I needed a break!

Anyway, this is an attempt at a _truly_ realistic "real world kid sucked into fandom" story. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: i don't own Naruto or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

* * *

You all know them. You've all read them. Maybe the summary looked enticing, or maybe it was just for kicks, to see how badly someone could fuck up canon. Maybe you moved on in disappointment or disgust. Maybe you flamed it. Or hell, if it was a total phenomenon of nature, maybe you actually _enjoyed_ it. But the point is, they exist: stories, or more accurately, fanfictions, of attractive young women (*cough*sues*cough*) getting kidnapped by the Akatsuki. Sometimes they're civilians, occasionally even canon characters; perhaps they possess some special ability, or maybe they're a comically inept shinobi, or perhaps the universe played a cruel trick on some real world kids who's parents were conveniently out of town and dumped them in the living room, but whatever, whenever, whoever they are, they all seem to have some common traits.

Trait one: they are all gorgeous. Always. All the time. Maybe there's something about them that they consider a physical flaw (small boobs or something), but hey, in the end, it just winds up being cute or endearing. Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

Trait two: they're always stubborn and brash and usually immature, and somehow, and this is what really grates at me, _they always fucking get away with it!_ Never do they suffer psychotic meltdowns or get backhanded for insubordination, oh _nooooo_. God knows, that may blemish their porcelain fucking face. We can't have _that_ now can we?

Trait three: another one that pisses me the hell off – they always get downright chummy with the dress wearing pricks. Never mind that pretty much nobody in the organization likes each other, to the point that none of them can be left alone together without a cubic shitload of collateral damage – they're all going to live together and take turns cooking breakfast! It'll be great fun!

I could go on for hours, but frankly, I'm a lazy person, so I'm not going to bother. You get the point, right? Well, welcome to real life (or something resembling it – I still leave the possibility that I'm hallucinating or comatose or perchance dead and this is my fucked up purgatory wide open).

My name is Gwen Richards. I'm seventeen years old, and until about...three months ago, I guess, I lived with my mom in D.C. I used the metro system regularly and refused to learn to drive (if you've ever seen D.C. traffic then you understand my rationale). I worked in a book store and tried desperately to keep the music section organized, and then blew all my money on manga and art supplies. I was a grumpy, apathetic teenager who liked stand up comedy and T-bone steaks and Sum 41.

I had divorced parents and best friends who would take a bullet for me, and who I would take a bullet for right back. I had a fat, dumb, adorable mutt that barked at _everything_. I had Chinese leftovers and private school, aunts and uncles and crazy grandmas, college applications and homework, severe arachnophobia and mythology books. To put it in simpler terms, I had a life, and god-dammit all if I wasn't happy.

And then I died.

Or…well…something. I don't really know, and frankly I don't think Pein even does, but then again it's hard to tell with him. If he does know anything about how in the hell I got here or how I can get back, he's not about to let on, because obviously that wouldn't be _beneficial_ to him and his little world domination setup. I used to wonder, since he would never tell me. Maybe I miraculously survived getting hit by that bus. Maybe this is just a coma dream, and I'm really in a hospital bed surrounded by bouquets and teddy bears.

But I stopped thinking about that because the image would always be completed by my mom and dad and friends holding my hand and crying over me and begging me to wake up. I also had to stop imagining if I died there – what my funeral would have been like, what my folks were doing with themselves…it just hurt too much.

These days, I don't think anybody would react if I died far past mild surprise that somehow the numerous seals, wards, and bodyguards had failed to keep my ass alive. And hell, maybe some disappointment. You know, just keep my fragile self esteem happy.

Now, my life consists of the baggy, mismatched clothes that Kakuzu occasionally brings me from one thrift store or another. I have a dingy little room with a grand view of the equally dingy, industrialized Rain Village, the monochromatically grey sight striped and streaked with chakra enhanced steel bars and smog that's collected on the window panes.

I have constant guards: sometimes a few ANBU, but usually Zetsu, Kakuzu, or Konan. I have Japanese lessons and a mahjong board to keep me occupied, and, since I've gained a decent level of proficiency in the language, the occasional scroll or book, normally given to me by Konan out of pity. Or Kakuzu, but he always says it's to shut me the fuck up about being bored.

This is the cold, hard truth: not fanfiction, not manga or anime. This is life. _My_ life. And therefore, considering the fact that nobody here likes me enough to really talk to me or, indeed acknowledge my existence past what Pein's told them to do concerning my well being, I've decided to start this mental soliloquy to no one. I'm not insane, I swear, but if I am then it doesn't matter because I'm insane so I probably don't care anyway. I'm not hearing voices or talking to myself (any more than I ever have, at least), I'm simply narrating my own existence as a weird coping mechanism. Maybe, if I think of this situation in the form of the story that it's _supposed_ to be, I can make some sense of it.

So, remember that list of traits of the kids that this usually happens to in imagination-land? I give you the revised edition:

1 – I am not gorgeous. I admit it. I'm no hag…or at least…I didn't used to be. I hate looking in mirrors now because they're so few and far between in this place (I can't even see my reflection in my window, considering how filthy it is) because every time I look in one it's like I'm seeing a totally new person; one that looks progressively worse as time wears on. Every time I see my reflection, I can't help but remember those before-after pictures from infomercials back home: the before picture would be me, in a funny T-shirt and jeans, my face oval shaped and passably pretty (I'd give myself a solid B), framed with sloppy blonde hair and set with almond shaped hazel eyes, my figure inconspicuous at 5'6 and 135 lb.

The after would depict me now: hair still sloppy, but longer and dirtier and practically dreaded, face wasted and hollow and drawn, eyes underlined with deep bags, which in turn are accentuated with stress lines to rival that little freak Itachi's; body wasted and frail looking, all angles, with a kimono obviously designed for a grown man (evidenced by the shoulder seams nearly reaching my elbows) and cutoff trousers hanging off like Subway Jared's fat pants on a scarecrow.

2 – I am a shy, lazy, pathetic excuse for a human being. No matter how wronged I am, I usually let myself get treated like a damn doormat, until eventually I explode and wind up beating the shit out of someone and feeling terrible about it two seconds later. Not exactly Wonder Woman.

3 – as mentioned: THEY – DO –NOT – LIKE – ME!!! Christ, Kakuzu either ignores me or degrades me; Zetsu's black side does much the same, though his white side just tells me I shouldn't be so passive. Konan agrees, and berates me constantly for being unmotivated, as it's usually her giving me the language lessons. Pein thinks I'm pathetic, but as he refuses to swallow that I don't know anything (and is correct in doing so, but I digress), he keeps me around. Sasori thinks I'm useless, Orochimaru…frankly I don't _want _to know what that creeper thinks of me, Kisame, well…he's not too bad. At least polite, which is more than I can say for most of the others. Itachi ignores me completely, but I don't take it personally because he ignores pretty much everyone.

So, now that that's all out of the way, I'm willing to bet that you want to know what exactly it is that I'm doing here, huh?

What's that? You don't?! Pssh, well fine, asshole, just for that I'm gonna tell you anyway!

It was a normal day, with normal, early October weather. I was headed from the metro station to Bingo's Books (no pun intended, I swear), the store I worked in after school. I had just had a normal day at school (or as normal as my private school ever gets, being geared towards kids with ADD) and I was looking forward to getting my normal paycheck for my normal minimum wage "teenager" job. I was standing on the street corner across from Bingo's, waiting for the light to turn red so that I could get across the street. My coworker, a pretty young pregnant woman named Melanie who was married to a successful architect and had just gotten the job to keep herself occupied, saw me trough the glass showcase window and waved merrily. I waved back, and a second later, the light turned red. I stepped off the curb, still looking at Mel, and suddenly her face contorted with horror, staring somewhere over my left shoulder.

The last thing I remember is looking behind me and getting an eyeful of the flat front of a transit bus and the mortified face of the driver beyond the tinted glass. I remember thinking, in not so organized terms, "What the fucking – it's a red light you jackhole!" and then the sharp, final report of my entire body hitting the front of the bus at the same time and bouncing off. I remember the fading sounds of blaring horns and, I could swear, Melanie screaming, and I remember the abrasive smell of warm asphalt, the gravel digging into my back, and something wet pooling beneath my head while my vision tunneled rapidly.

And then, I woke up. I found myself somehow sitting on the surface of some kind of still, endless black lake. Everything was pitch black – I couldn't tell the water from the air. The only light seemed to be coming off of me in a faint glow. I was wearing something like one of those gross hospital gowns, except made of actual fabric and not tissue paper, and laced together in the back properly. I only know that because I could see my oddly glowing reflection in the surface of the water. At this point severely freaked out and trying very hard not to panic, I stood up on the water's meniscus and took a few wobbly steps. Satisfied that the water would hold my weight, I decided not to question it, simply because I didn't want to think of the alternative. I looked around, hoping that my eyes would adjust – my glow didn't seem to have much of a cast.

"Erm…Hu-Hullo?" I called awkwardly. My voice felt lost to the dark – it didn't even echo. I took a deep breath. "HEY!" I roared. "Hello?! Anyone here? HELLO?!" My tolerance level for unexplainable, terrifying experiences is very low. Did I mention that? "OI! Anybody home? Look if this is a joke it ain't funny! I've been punk'd, see? Ha-ha-ha!"

I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate and instinctively grabbed at the crook of my neck. It was about at this point that it caught up to me that the last thing I remembered before waking up in this twisted Wonderland was being hit by a bus, which, needless to say, did nothing to assist my calm.

"OKAY, WHAT THE FUCK?! Where the hell is everybody?! Where in the fuck am I?! What is this, fucking Limbo?!" I snarled down at my reflection, my only apparent company here, and therefore the only thing I had to rant to. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!" I screamed at myself, all dignity and composure abandoned.

I wound up on my knees, trying desperately to push my hands through the surface of the water, franticly trying to get _something_ to follow the laws of physics and make some damn sense. I gave up after a few minutes and just sat there sobbing and shaking and confused. Eventually, I got tired of even that, and just knelt there sniffling hopelessly, occasionally blowing my nose on my wide white sleeve. I distinctly recall whimpering for my mommy. I guess that's just everyone's default in tough spots like that.

Anyways, after a while, once I'd managed to go quiet and regained some measure of composure, I finally heard something. The good news: it wasn't a noise caused by me. Bad news: it was this horrible, groaning, rushing noise that scared the ever-living shit out of me.

And the moment it came, the water directly beneath me lit up like a star had formed under the impossibly resilient surface, and over that point the water began to spin and sink, like I'd just been flushed down a colossal toilet.

Within seconds, I was whirling about underwater, screaming out a stream of bubbles and no longer able to tell up from down. The only way I could tell I was being sucked lower into the whirlpool that had opened under me was the way I began to spin faster and faster, to the point that it was actually painful. I was lightheaded and nauseous, and just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore and I was gonna puke, inhale water, and black out all at the same time, I woke up.

Yeah, I know. It made sense at the time, except that it really kind of didn't.

This time, the laws of nature at least seemed to apply again, thank god. I was lying on a rather uncomfortable cot, under a scratchy blanket, in a boring concrete room with a single bare lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. But there was something else niggling at the back of mind as I lay there, taking stock. I didn't realize what it was until I sat up, though.

Turns out I was stark naked.

Go figure.

"What the fucking -- !" I grunted on instinct, snatching the thin blanket up to cover myself. Good thing, too, because at that moment the door banged open and someone walked in. A _male_ someone. A vaguely _familiar_ male someone; who strangely enough, in the dim lighting, appeared to be wearing a dress.

He was absurdly tall and just flat out big – not fat or ripped or anything, just _big._ He also looked like he was in a pretty shitty mood, judging by his stiff shoulders and stalking stride. I couldn't really tell what was going on with his face past the blazing, narrowed eyes, as he was wearing a sort of white hood with a face mask clipped to it. The eyes themselves were a point interest, though – they were bright, neon green with reddish brown sclera. I chalked it up to contacts or some kind of rare condition, though something about them definitely rang a bell.

Now, I know what you're thinking. It's the same thing I always think when I read crap like that in the fanfics: how in the fuck is it not obvious?! I mean, Naruto was my guilty pleasure series back home: of course I knew the characters! So how could I not recognize Kakuzu when I saw him?

Well, for one thing, Naruto was kind of the farthest thing from my mind at that particular moment, so _so-oorry._ Secondly, like I said, the lighting kind of sucked. And thirdly, well…denial is the human brain's default whenever data does not compute. That's all I can really say for myself.

Anywho, the big scary, angry dude who would later turn out to be Kakuzu just sort of stormed in, dumped a bundle of cloth on my cot, glared at me for a split second, and marched right back out, slamming the door behind him.

"…well that was freakish," I muttered after an awkward silence. I tore my gaze from the door after a few seconds to look at what Mr. Angry had left behind: it looked like a bundle of rags. Tentatively, I leaned over, still clutching the blanket to my collar bone, and picked up a corner of fabric, separating it from the rest of the bundle. Turns out it _was_ a pile of rags – just cut and sewn into something resembling really terrible clothing that had to have been owned at least twice previously.

Within minutes, I had laid out flat on my bed a pair of fraying dark grey drawstring cutoffs that were at least three sizes too big; a baggy, well loved black T-shirt; green boxers that at least_ smelled_ clean; and last but not least a huge, faded red robe – like the fancy silk kinds that the villains in cheesy Mob movies wear in their free time while they're drinking Italian wine and stroking their creepy longhaired cats. Except this thing looked like it had gotten used as a scratching post one too many times and it's Mafioso owner had been forced to give it away to a thrift shop.

Whoever owned it had been a freakin giant, too, because when I put it on over the T-shirt and pants (the drawstrings of which had been pulled tight and tied off so that the loops hung almost to my knees), the sleeves had to be rolled back five times and the black trimming around the edges of the front flaps spanned my entire shoulder width at the neckline.

Well, I guess it was better than being naked. Besides, this room was freezing.

With nothing better to do, I examined the room, starting with the door. I found that by peering through the crack around the edges I could see bits of the locks on the outside and figure out what kinds they were.

When I was like ten my Aunt's house burned down and she and my little freak cousins had to come stay with us while they rebuilt. So I had to spend almost half a year with Katie and Eric, the spoiled little bastards, constantly sneaking into my room and bothering my pet snake, stealing my Halloween candy stash, reading my journals, shit like that. So eventually I got fed up and checked out a book on different kinds of locks from the elementary school library, so that I could determine what kind would be best to beg Mom to install. It didn't work, since my parents were incorrigibly nosey and would never have given me that kind of power, but damn it all if I didn't know my locks after that!

Not that that really helped me, since I didn't see any of them. Not even a basic cylinder deadbolt like you see in public bathroom stalls. In fact, I didn't even see a normal built in deadlock like on the average front door. All I could make out was a solid black space about four inches long on the other side of the seam. Since there was no doorknob on the inside of the room, I pushed experimentally against the heavy wood. Zilch.

Well, worth a try…

Aside from the door anomaly, rest of the room looked like it was just boring, unfurnished concrete – no security cameras or microphones that I could find, not even under the bed; though there was a bedpan. Honestly, it was sort of depressing.

So far as I could tell, this wasn't a prison, because if it was there would be bars or a two-way mirror or something, and there was no reason for me to be in a prison anyway, since I had been hit by a bus running a red light and this clearly was not _my_ fault. I sat on the bed and mulled over the events of the past few hours…or however the hell long it had been. Honestly, I wasn't sure. It was pretty disconcerting.

As far as I could tell, I had died – violently. But I didn't have a scratch on me, even though I was _positive_ I had felt blood before blacking out. I had woken up after my supposed death in some dark ass subterranean lake where the laws of nature didn't seem to apply, and from there, I was sucked down a random whirlpool like something out of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. And now I was sitting in crappy, ill fitting clothes in some kind of cell.

For some odd reason, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I had missed something…

Meh. I decided that the next time somebody came in (hopefully not Mr. Angry, he kind of freaked me out) I would ask what the hell was going on. Of course, I knew what was going to happen: I would spend from now until somebody actually did come in trying to think of a good way to phrase the question, only to stammer out a meek little inquiry when the situation actually came about. This kind of thing happened a lot. Well, not _this_ kind of thing, I'd obviously never died before, but…gah, you know what I mean!

Quite suddenly, I became aware of a nagging pressure in my abdomen. I was so lost in thought, it took me a second to figure out what it was. When I did, I felt my face flush, and quickly I dipped under the bed and retrieved the bedpan. Then my paranoid side kicked in, and I realized that the "someone" I was waiting for might come in while I was answering nature's persistent call. So I pulled my cot so that instead of sitting snug in the back corner of the room it was poking out from the middle of the wall, and I moved behind it so that anyone coming into the room wouldn't be able to see any more of me that my head and shoulders.

At the very least there had been a stack of folded paper towels under the bed pan, so I had something to wipe with.

…What?! It's a legitimate concern!

Anywho, after relieving myself, I crammed the bedpan and remaining clean towels under the bed and curled up on top of it. My eyes were beginning to sting and droop with sleepiness, but in all honesty I was afraid to fall asleep. The last two times I had woken up it had been to unfamiliar, frightening surroundings. If I went to sleep now, where would I wake up next? At last, when I could no longer hold off, I reasoned with myself that the last two times I hadn't technically fallen asleep, I had lost consciousness, and so falling asleep on my own should be okay.

I woke up several hours later to somebody shaking my shoulder. Thankfully in the same place I'd gone to sleep this time. My theory proved true! Yay me!

"What hell?" I groaned, sending a bleary, half-hearted glare at whoever was trying to wake me up.

Looking back, I frankly don't know what Sasori was expecting. You wake up a seventeen year old, you're going to face the damn consequences. That simple. Unfortunately for me, Akasuna no Sasori has an unhealthy preoccupation with punctuality. And by that, I mean he's a morning person. The little fucker.

As my vision at last began to come into focus, my still slightly crossed hazel eyes met with a pair of dispassionate, heavily lidded brown ones that were ringed with the most gorgeous lashes I had ever seen, mascara or no.

Isn't it annoying how guys for some reason always have better eyelashes than girls? Good god, I hate that! Well, at least they don't know it bothers us; otherwise I'm sure they'd never leave us alone.

Ahem. As I was saying...

Eyelashes, as I immediately began calling him in my mind, opened his mouth and said…something…that I couldn't for the life of me understand.

I propped myself up on my elbows and rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes, then twisted a pinkie around in one ear.

"Come 'gain?" I mumbled half coherently. The guy looked surprised, then irritated. He said something else, in a sharp, demanding tone.

"…Mreh?" Now he just looked a weird mixture of pissed and bland, kind of like the high school kid who got stuck showing the newbie around. He said something else in a kind of flat tone, and when I responded only with a blank stare, he sighed irritably, snapped something, and grabbed my arm.

I yelped in surprise as I was dragged out of my little room and into a hallway with stone walls and floors, bare fluorescent light tubes on the ceiling, and heavy wooden doors just like mine. As Eyelashes hauled me down the corridor, I noticed that some of the doors had, instead of knobs or locks, pieces of paper with inked characters (Kanji? What?") stuck on the seams between the door and jamb. Wait, was _that _what was holding my door shut?! You're shitting me!

…Now why in the hell were those so familiar…?

~/~present time~/~

Well, I guess that's far enough for now. Besides, Konan's gonna be in soon to teach me more gibberish. Can I just try to express to you how much I detest kanji? Ugh! Well, on the bright side, if Konan's coming that means Kakuzu's going to be off guard duty soon and Zetsu will be in, and he'll at least set up my mahjong board for me. He's cool that way. Tough to believe he eats people…

Well, I guess they're usually already dead. That makes it a little less creepy. A little. Kind of. Not really. Maybe I'm just in denial.

In fact…yeah. I'm in denial. But hey, if the only person you frequently saw who was at least sort of nice to you was a cannibalistic plant-man with severe split personality disorder I'll bet you'd be in denial too!

You know what? I'm just going to shut up now. I'll be submitting part two, Gwen vs. piercings, soon. And by soon, I mean the next time I get bored enough. Which I assure you will be soon.

…I'm not crazy!

(A/N) – I just wanted to write this and see what happened ^^ Gwen's been in my head for a while now, but I only recently developed a good idea for her, so here it is. Each chapter will be one of Gwen's mental soliloquies to no one. I guess it technically counts as talking to yourself, but it's more like talking to people who aren't there, for lack of anyone real to talk to or anyone who could understand what she's saying anyway.

I want to lay some commandments out now, and you can hold me to these:

1: any powers Gwen gains later on will be the result of trial and error and shitloads of work.

2: This will be following canon and timeline, meaning that once Orochimaru leaves the Akatsuki will not all be meeting at once for another seven years. Meaning no "one big happy family" Akatsuki.

3: if there is any romance later, which there likely will not be, it will be well developed and _probably_ with an OC. It will also be fraught with hardship due to Gwen's attachment issues.

4: Gwen will miss her world. Her driving force in this story will be returning home. No matter what. And by "no matter what," I mean she will be willing to screw with canon and ally herself with whoever it takes to get there. In fact, she'll pretty much be turning evil. You have been warned.

That should about do it. If you don't like the idea of my character becoming, in the eyes of the story's heroes, a bad guy, all I can say is: tough shit. This is meant to be realistic. If you don't think, realistically, you would try anything to get home if sucked into a parallel dimension full of characters constantly trying to kill each other, chances are you're fooling yourself.

Gwen may or may not be "reformed" by the end of the story. I haven't thought it out all that far, really.


	2. Not Yet Dead

(A/N) – d'you know? This might actually go somewhere! Of course, provided another plotbunny doesn't strike…

YOU – _**HORRIBLE **_BUNNYS!

Disclaimer: I don't own it. But mark my words Kishimoto-_sensei_…one of these days. Oh, yes. One day...

* * *

Alrighty, since my last entry, my brain has been put through a proverbial meat grinder by Konan in her ceaseless determination to pound the Japanese language into my very bones. Not to mention I'm pissed because Zetsu is off on a mission (something about scroll thievery – that seems like the default excuse around here) so I ended up with Scrooge – sorry, did I say Scrooge? I meant Kakuzu – as my lovely stewardess for the remainder of the day. So, so much for mahjong.

Yeah, that's right jerk, I'm glaring at _you_. Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?

Yeah, you look away. I know how you're gonna die, how's that bitch?

…Not that I'm bitter.

So Anywho, to pass the time, I'll try and finish my recap of the events that lead to my present situation before bed.

* * *

"Erm…"

My awkward noise echoed off the blank, damp walls of the cavern that I had been shoved into ten seconds previously. Before abandoning me, Eyelashes had given me an annoyed look and said something that, despite the language barrier, I could swear translated to something along the lines of "don't do anything stupid."

Funny how some things are just universal, ne?

Did I by any chance fail to mention that I wasn't wearing shoes? Yeah. The walk down here was fun – I couldn't feel my feet anymore due to the cold concrete floors all the way down. Mind you that was probably a good thing – the floor of the cavern seemed to slope downwards and was made up primarily of large boulders fit together like a stony New England shoreline.

I was about to say something when a timid call cut me off, echoing around unseen walls.

"Erm…Hu – Hullo?"

Wait…that's _my_ voice. But I didn't just say…that….

"HEY –EY – Ey – eyyyy" my not-voice reverberated hauntingly.

"What the hell…?" I whispered to myself.

"Hello?! Anyone here? HELLO?! OI! Look if this is a joke it ain't funny! I've been punk'd, see? Ha-ha-ha!"

This was all starting to sound disturbingly familiar…

Wait a second…

"OKAY, WHAT THE FUCK!" I screamed, in unison with my not-voice. The not voice continued: "Where the hell is everybody?! Where in the fuck am I?! What is this, fucking limbo?!

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!"

The cavern filled with the sounds of terrified babbling and sobbing and hyperventilation, sounds identical in origin yet from different times bouncing off of each other and the dark walls. What was this, a recording? Had somebody been there, in that horrible, empty place watching my little episode? Son of a bitch, why didn't they help me? What kind of a sick fucker…?

Good god, it was almost worse hearing it in retrospect…

"Pitiful, aren't you?"

"Huh?" I jumped, whipping around gracelessly. The voice hadn't been mine, or my not-voice, but a man's. A man's smooth, aristocratic, heavily accented, incredibly _sexy_ voice. I should probably mention, the Japanese voices in the show come pretty close, but the real characters sound noticeably different. Particularly Pein – he may be evil, but just because I hate his guts doesn't mean I can't appreciate his voice!

I felt a gust of wind behind me in the otherwise still air, and a warm breath ruffled the hair on the back of my neck.

"YAH!"

In a rare show of agility, I leapt forwards and spun around in midair to face my potential assailant. If you think Pein is creepy in black outline and cell shading, you should see him in flesh and blood. He lifted an eyebrow at my shaking form.

"Surely…you are not _afraid_ of me?" he drawled. I noted vaguely that he had a thick Japanese accent. He stepped forward. I stepped back. "Come, now, do not make yourself foolish," he said icily, taking another step in my direction. My legs felt like lead posts, like the way his eyes bore into me was causing my feet to set down roots in the cold stone floor. Somehow, despite that, I managed to move away once more. Disconcerting ringed eyes narrowed almost infinitesimally. "I would not suggest stepping back any more, girl," he snapped. He took another step, but this time, instead of approaching like a man with a halter towards a spooked horse, he moved briskly.

The action had much the same affect as if he _had _been approaching a spooked horse: I emitted a wild squeak that didn't even sound quite human and did an odd sort of hop back. Except, when I did, my feet didn't meet back up with cold stone – instead, the terrifyingly familiar texture of waters' surface met my skin. I gasped and looked down, silently praying that I was imagining that my feet had yet again not broken the meniscus.

No dice.

Too late, I detected movement in my peripheral vision, and a hand latched around my upper arm and yanked me back onto dry land. Which effectively threw me off balance and sent me crashing into a solid, unmoving torso. It took a moment for me to register that my face was currently pressed into scary dude's chest, but the moment it did I pushed away quickly with a yelped "Sorry!"

Now, as before with Kakuzu, you're probably wondering how I haven't figured out that something Naruto-related was going on here – I mean, Pein's a pretty distinctive character, right? Well, looking up at him and blushing profusely in that moment, I did realize that he bore a striking resemblance to the evil anime character. But I still drew no connection between my situation and the fictional show.

Although it may be mentioned that I had noticed that both Scary Dude and Eyelashes were wearing fishnet…

But hey, fishnet doesn't necessarily entail ninja! It could just as easily spell "80's enthusiast…"

I still feel kind of dumb for not having figured it out before I did, but they really do look different in three dimensions.

Scary Dude snorted derisively and, faster than I could even see, gripped my chin and forced me to look full into his face. "Completely helpless, aren't you?" he sneered. "I had expected."

He let me go and stalked a few paces away. Awkward silence reigned. I choked on a giggle, remembering my friends from the art program I had attended last summer and our running gag of "every awkward silence, a gay baby is born." A high pitched squeak escaped me in the futile efforts to contain my badly timed hilarity, causing Scary Dude to glare over his shoulder. Oh, dear. I seem to have interrupted someone's dramatic pause. All sarcasm aside, the glare was pretty creepy, so I sobered up and tried not to further ruin the guy's moment.

"What is your name, girl?" he finally snapped.

"Uh, it – it's Gwen," I stammered timidly. Funny, isn't it? How terror makes you forget your own name? He raised and eyebrow.

"Guen?" he tried out my name, rolling it out with the odd tinge of his accent. "Is this…" he paused for a second, thinking, "…shortened…for something?"

It took me a second to figure out what he meant, until I realized he was probably still referring to my name. "Er…Guinevere?" I tried. I wasn't good with accents, and like I said, his was really thick – kind of like he was trying to speak with a small bouncy ball in his mouth. Not to insult Japanese accents or anything, but that is sort of the overall effect. Props to the guy, though; even with a language impediment, he still managed to sound authoritative. Not an easy thing to do, man.

He gave a grunt of badly masked disinterest, then turned and moved to the edge of the body of water that I had nearly fallen into. He turned and eyed me expectantly, holding out a hand and looking for all the world like the perfect gentleman offering a dance.

Hesitant and fully expecting a trap, I took the proffered appendage. He pulled me by the hand until I was standing next to him on the water's edge, lifted a foot, and placed it on the still black surface. I watched, subconsciously holding my breath. Would he stay on top? Was it just that the water around here was some kind of funky government experiment? Was it really just an Ooblek-like substance and I was about to feel really stupid? Or was it just me, and being hit by a transit bus had turned me into a freak of nature?

…Was I in X men? If so, my codename was so NOT going to be "Jesus."

Scary Dude leaned away from me, forward, resting all his weight on the foot on the water. It stayed firmly in place. So it wasn't just me. Good to know.

A tug on my hand alerted me that I had been so riveted on Scary Dude's foot that I hadn't noticed him glaring at me as if I should be doing something – I was strongly reminded of a teacher giving you that _look_ when you're talking or reading or whatever right before they start class. I raised an eyebrow. This kind of thing pisses me off – when people try to get you to do stuff without even bothering to say so.

I raised an eyebrow and lifted my free hand in a tiny wave. "Um…hi." He looked exasperated…just like Mom whenever I pulled that on her. Guess treating anybody not yet legal like a subordinate is just a universal adult thing.

"Step," he grunted, pulling insistently at my hand. "On the water, like me. Step now." I took a deep breath and lifted a foot to join his on the water.

The surface of water feels incredibly strange – like warm ice or a sheet of damp glass. Droplets of water follow your every step, and there's a certain give under your feet that doesn't exist on solid ground, so insignificant that it's hardly noticeable, but so alien that it is.

Despite having done this twice before, I couldn't hold back an anxious whine and clung like a vice to Scary Dude's hand when he began mover farther out onto the water, dragging me with him.

I was getting horrible mental images of Zombies popping out of the water and attacking us like something out of a horror movie, or perhaps freakish glowing squids and prehistoric sharks that had gotten trapped in this evidently subterranean body of water and evolved accordingly rising out of the depths and eating my feet.

…

Oh, please, as if you're any more rational in the face of terror!

We walked for a few minutes, which to me felt like hours, until Scary Dude halted and turned to face me.

"We stop here," he said, releasing my hand and holding it out over the water in front of us, palm down. I frowned, waiting for something to happen. And holy shit, did something ever happen.

This, now I think about it, was my first indication that something seriously weird was going on. I mean, the cave dwelling Madonna enthusiasts were a tad off, and the walking on water was pretty strange, but I had kind of connected that to the getting hit by a bus thing, so in a convoluted way I guess it made sense at the time. I think up till that point, I was kind of thinking I was dead, or in limbo or something, and that pretty soon everything was going to be explained.

It sounds stupid. I sound like a pointless airhead. I know. I acknowledge this. But as I have said, I was scared and confused and naive. Before I got hit by that bus, you have to understand, I lived in a world where, in comparison to this place, children were pandered to. The adults in my life had always looked out for and protected me and tried to explain what was going on so that I wouldn't be frightened or possibly traumatized. This was the first time in my life I was completely on my own.

To put it shortly, I was scared shitless.

Especially when Scary Dude's hand started glowing white, and the white light shot down in a pillar and connected to the water. In a fit of morbid curiosity that somehow managed to pierce my surge of fear, I tried to see if the light was actually descending into the depths of the water, or if it was simply a reflection. But before I could figure it out, the light spread out beneath our feet to form a perfect circle.

Reminded of the light that had preceded the Big Flush last time I walked on water, I yelped and tried to leap back. I didn't even see Scary Dude move, didn't even register that he had, until I realized he was holding my arm with his not glowing hand and giving me a stern glare.

A small breeze kicked up, spiraling within the parameters of the white circle and picking up speed. My hair was ruffled upwards in the draft, and I shuddered at the odd sensation of hair that had already been standing on end being stirred. Scary Dude rolled his eyes briefly, his own burnt orange hair whipping about his metal lined ears.

The light, which had been holding a steady glow, suddenly flashed like a huge camera, and by the time the red blotches had faded from my vision (Scary Dude was, of course, totally unaffected), the glow was gone, replaced by a kind of a flat…nothing. Like we were standing on a kind of a silvery non-reflective mirror thing, or frozen un-dyed gelatin. All at once, the wind died down, our clothes and hair settled, and eerie silence reigned. Believe me, I didn't know until that moment what the words "It's quiet…_too_ quiet," truly meant.

At last, my voice returned to me. At last, I could take no more. This was the…the…wait a sec – okay:

1: surviving head on collision with transit bus

2: walking on water, episode 1

3: waking up naked on a cot

4: guy in a dress throwing yard sale clothes at me

5: using a bedpan

6: people speaking gibberish

7: heavy duty doors locked with sticky notes

8: guys dressed like David Bowie

9: listening to myself throw a tantrum from god knows how many hours…days…weeks…

Fucking A, how long had I been here?! Where was here? Who were these people? What in fuck's name was going on, and most importantly, why was it happening to _me_ of all people? At last, my instincts to remain polite failed me, the dam broke, and I puffed up like an infuriated Canadian Goose.

It was a kind of a slow rage build up, something I had learned from my mom; the kind of thing that gathered like an electrical storm until it was actually palpable to the object of your ire. I'd love to say that Scary Dude turned slowly with wide, frightened, deer-in-the-headlights anime eyes and sweatdropped at the sight of my incensed visage, but I told you already: this isn't anime. These guys aren't in any way cute, and they don't get scared of many things; particularly not scrawny seventeen year old girls in baggy secondhand pajamas.

Scary Dude sensed the rage, alright, and he did turn slowly, but it was with a cool expression and one eyebrow twitching upwards as if to say "Can I help you?"

I was too pissed to care.

"Alright, _pal_," I snarled, getting up in his face with all the aggression of a pissed biker chick. "This is the…" I took a second to recount my list- "the ninth weird thing that's happened to me in recent memory. Tell me, are you waiting for number ten to occur before explaining exactly what the _fuck_ is going on here or do I have to beat the shit out of you to get some fucking answerGAK!"

Again with the light speed shit. I never saw Scary Dude's hand move, all I knew for about two beats was that I was no longer standing on the water – or indeed, standing at all. In fact, my feet were a good foot and a half off the ground…meniscus…otherworldly light…disk…thing – you know what I'm talking about!

My hands flew up instinctively to claw at Scary Dude's wrist, until his grip on my throat tightened warningly. I hung there for a few more extraordinarily long seconds, gasping and probably inventing a few shades of red and purple that Crayola has yet to cook up. Finally, Scary Dude loosened his grip a tad, just enough for me to wheeze a bit.

"Finished?" he said frostily.

I nodded weakly as far as I could. "Yeah, yeah, I'm done!" I squeaked through my constricted airways. The iron fist around my neck unclamped abruptly and I crumpled to the floor (or whatever) in a gasping, spluttering heap. Panting, I hoisted myself partway up on my hands and glowered at Scary Dude begrudgingly through my bangs. His expression remained completely nonplused.

"If you speak to me again like that, I will not let go next time. Understanding?"

I was sorely tempted to correct his grammar, but…I was in shock. My parents hadn't exactly used the tough love approach on me as a kid – mostly they just used time-out or just threatened to spank me, but physical punishment was almost nonexistent. I had never been subjected to anything like that before, so naturally, when I had enough oxygen to speak, I only managed a raspy "What the hell was _that_ for?!"

He pinned me there with those freakish ringed eyes for a space, not answering. "Get up," he said at last. "And have patience. I will explain now."

Massaging my abused throat, I staggered to my feet, noting with some dismay that the front of my already barely serviceable clothes was now damp.

"Oh, come _on_!" I groaned to myself, grabbing the hem of my robe and squeezing it exaggeratedly. A dribble of water trickled from the bunched fabric to the glowing water, rippling outwards like liquid silver.

Queue weird event number 10.

The first ripple hit the edge of the circle, and the water beneath my feet suddenly decided to begin complying with the laws of physics. I didn't even get a chance to shriek, just a startled "Whoo - !" that cut off with a gurgle as icy mother-of-pearl water folded over me. The fears of mutant sea monsters returned full-force and I spun about frantically, trying my damndest to see all directions at once out of the animalistic desperation to not be taken unawares.

The glow, incidentally, did seem to rise in a pillar from the floor of whatever this body of water was to the surface I had just been standing on, so there was one question answered. Whoopdee-do. Morbid curiosity once again took over, and I chanced a glance down to see if I could see the bottom of the light pillar, but it was kind of…hazy, I guess you could say. I don't really know how else to describe it. I was shaken out of my curious reverie with a start, remembering my vigil for cliché underwater horrors, and immediately began whipping about again with newfound adrenaline.

It was about that point that I realized I couldn't see the water outside of the pillar anymore.

…I am such a fucking genius.

To add to the fun, a few seconds later my lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen, as I hadn't had sufficient warning to take a deep breath before dropping into the water. I tried, belatedly, to kick to the surface, but there was just one problem – the surface didn't seem to be there anymore. The all encompassing haze fogged up my destination, and after a few more frantic bids for air, I decided that there was no way I'd gone _that_ far under and should have reached the surface by now. Therefore, I shuffled it off as another weird thing that probably wasn't going to be explained.

I hate to say it, but I was sort of getting used to being confused.

At last, animal instinct took over and I couldn't hold in the stale air any longer. My entire body convulsed as I released my held breath and, on impulse, tried to suck in another. The second my lungs betrayed my mind, I knew it was all over – I was going to inhale water – I was going to drown and I would never know what was going on or where I was – nobody would know what had happened to me – I was going to die alone. On the bright side, I'd heard drowning wasn't a bad way to go; relatively peaceful from all accounts.

Then again, somebody could pull me out and give me mouth-to-mouth, but…Scary Dude was the only person present, and that didn't seem like his thing – damsels in distress and all that.

Only problem was, all my worrying turned out to be for nothing, as no water was inhaled. Whatever that hazy light stuff was, it wasn't liquid, though I'm pretty damn positive it wasn't air either. It was breathable though, and that was good enough for me.

"This is getting old," I deadpanned to myself. I was just about to resign myself to yet more waiting for either something else to happen or panic to set in, when agony lanced through my brain.

My eyes were wide open, but I couldn't see anything in front of me – my vision was encompassed by flickering images, freezing up and rushing by, overlapping and melting together, blurry and sharp, and God, they wouldn't

stop, it was too much, too much, it hurt and I just wanted to die, anything, anything, anything to stop it, people and places, buildings and cities, crosswalks, restaurants, and then I began to realize that

not everything matched up – there was the Sears Tower; and then a kid sat bored in a classroom with a _scroll_ of all things in his hands; until the Washington Monument took over, piercing the sky against a backdrop of cherry trees in full bloom, and god, there was home home home _home_, I could

see it, why couldn't I touch it? Then home was gone and black and white images of people in black dresses with absurdly high collars flashed one right after another, just discernable as pages from – Naruto? The images froze decisively on a man with more facial piercings than could be healthy, and then the face began to flicker, switching between ink lines and the full color, three dimensional face of a man, real and terrifying and entirely too familiar for my tastes.

And then…there was me. It took me a second to figure out that it was my face, my eyes, glassy and staring, my blood forming a twisted crimson halo like some macabre bible illumination, my shoulders being shaken by a pretty blonde woman – Melanie? – who was bent double over her swollen stomach while she screamed, mouthing words I could hear as if through water – "Gwen, Gwen, come on sweetie, get up! Gwen, are you alright? Oh my god! Oh my god, she isn't breathing!" More voices, the bus driver, leaping from the folding glass doors – "-Jesus, what happened?" People crowding out of their cars, covering their mouths in horror, tapping away at cell phone keys, cars too far back to know what was happening honking in annoyance – "What the fuck you asshole, there was a red light!" "What were you thinking?" "My god, is she _dead?_" "Call nine-one-one! Does anybody know CPR?" "Christ, is she breathing? I don't think she's breathing!"

"…what? I'm…dead?" I whispered, hardly aware I'd said anything. Anger set in: "No! Nonono, dammit, I don't want to be dead!" I lunged forwards, stretching a hand towards my body, limp and pointless as a rag doll in the streets, and holy god, that was _my blood _leaking out because, hell, not like I'd be needing it anymore. "Wake up! Wake up you useless bitch! Wake –"

"GAK!" Rough hands twisted my head sideways, and water dribbled down the side of my face to pool around my cheek on the cold…stone? My chest burned and ached, my lungs convulsed, and I instinctively flipped myself over to vomit more water. I heaved myself onto my knees and one hand, the other arm circling my ribs as I continued to hack and spew onto the ground. A hand whacked my back solidly, and its owner barked something in the gibberish I was now almost positive was Japanese.

A second voice deadpanned an answer, and after a moment I recognized it as Scary Dude's. The voice above me growled irritably. A third party chortled darkly, and a sickly voice – either an old woman with a serious smoking problem or a really creepy guy – spoke up. Stone crunched and shifted as footsteps came towards me, and open toed shoes came into my view, revealing impossibly pale feet with a lovely purple peticure. Without warning, a hand reached down and pulled my hair away from my face, and I shivered at the contact.

At last, my lungs seemed to run out of water; the bad news is, my gag reflex was still on overdrive and I realized, in that instant, that I hadn't eaten since the leftover spring roll I'd had for breakfast before being splattered across the city street, and god knows how long ago _that_ had been. So, I spat up a kind of bile-ish ooze which, I presumed, was all that remained of my most recent meal. To add to the fun, I went right on dry-heaving for a good minute after that.

If you have anything to say in the matter, never drown. It sucks.

I knelt there panting for a long second, hoping to god that my throat wasn't actually feeling, despite how it felt. The hand that had saved my hair from being caked with acidic spring roll ooze suddenly released its hold, allowing the stringy wet clumps to flop back into place aaaaaaand, shit.

* * *

The really annoying thing about bedtime around here is that there really isn't any preamble. Especially not with Kakuzu. Konan and Zetsu will at the very least warn me before they turn out the lights; he just reaches over and flicks em off without a word.

And then sits there all night. Staring at me. Zetsu is considerate enough to close the flytrap, at least until he's sure I'm asleep – I know I've woken up a few times and caught him playing mahjong or muttering to himself. Konan occupies herself with origami, so I don't feel like I'm under pressure to fall asleep. But Kakuzu – Christ I hate that guy. What makes it worse is that the freaky neon eyes? Yeah. They glow in the fucking dark. So not only can I _feel_ the son of a bitch watching me, I can see him doing it.

Methinks somebody needeth to get laid.

Well, looks like I'm not gonna quite finish up before sleep time. Whatever, it's my head. To be continued whenever, man.

Night.

* * *

Okay, so I got lazy. Shut up!

This chapter was torture, can I just say that? I'm still not really happy with it, but meh. You win some you lose some, right?


	3. Denial Ain't Just A River In Egypt

(A/N): damn, I'm just on a roll lately! If the last chapter didn't make sense to anybody, don't worry. In total honesty it didn't make much sense to me either…it just kinda happened, ya know?

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, old friends and new. Frankly I'm surprised by the popularity this story is gaining – considering the fact that I pulled it out of my ass O.O;;;

Disclaimer: obviously, nobody ever taught Kishimoto that "sharing is caring," because I don't own it. Greedy sonabitch…

* * *

Well, it's been a damn eventful few weeks, I'll tell you!

But before I get in to that, I need to finish up with my little backstory – don't worry, I'll actually be able to do it this time…everyone's kind of scared of me at the moment so I'm not going to be bothered. I'll explain once I'm done.

* * *

So, blah blah blah, rabble rabble rabble, uninteresting stuff that I don't know about because I couldn't understand a word of what was going on, whatever.

Honestly I probably couldn't have told you what was said even if I _did _speak Japanese, as at that point I was too disoriented and nauseous to do much more than stare at the rock beneath my hands and try to figure out whether the reason for its shifting in and out of focus was just my eyes messing with my brain, or if I was actually rocking back and forth between my knees and my hands and didn't realize it. Seriously, I couldn't tell. I think it was the latter, though, because after a couple of seconds I just kind of faceplanted and flopped onto my side, facing the other occupants of the room.

Once again, I don't know if my vision started failing at that point or if the lighting in the cave was worse than I remembered, because I couldn't really see anyone too well. I could tell that there was a woman in the room, and after a minute I figured out that the huge mass of shadow looming over my head was actually just a really big guy, who, judging by his posture even from behind, would rather have been a whole shitload of different, more interesting places right now. I also spotted a shock of dusty red that I quickly identified as Eyelashes' hair, before my view of the room was obstructed by the creepiest face I have ever seen in my entire life.

I don't mean scary, or intimidating, or frightening; I mean creepy. Like "I rape small children and then eat babies with a garnish of parsley" creepy.

I think you can already see where this is going.

No, not Fred Phelps. Orochimaru.

Don't get me wrong, I was still in denial about all this, but during my time in the Great Underwater Light Column of Subliminal Messages I had at least made the connection between the Madonna enthusiasts and the Akatsuki…but I still just thought that I had somehow been kidnapped by cosplayers in need of prescribed medication or something. It didn't explain the walking on water, but being kidnapped by crazed losers and possibly force fed PCP made a shitload more sense than being sucked into a fictional story.

He reached out and pressed two fingers to my neck – I shivered at the contact. His skin was weird; besides its freakish complexion I mean. Like a snake's scales, it had a strange slimy quality to it without actually being damp.

I felt my own pulse twitch erratically against the unwelcome digits pressing the vein before they finally, finally pulled away. The disturbing "old woman on two packs a day" voice once again joined the heated conversation that I had only just realized was going on behind Orochimaru. Things seemed to calm down after a second, and for a moment there was silence. Then…

_Chuff chuff chuff_

_'What the…?'_

_Chuff chuff_

_'Was that…?'_

_Chuff chuff chuff chuff_

_'Is that coming from underground?'_

With an enormous effort, I shifted my head to press one ear hard to the stone.

_Chuff chuff **chuff chuff chuff !**_

Yep. It was underground, and it was getting closer. My guess: giant worm, lost mole, or zombie legions.

Hey, you never know.

With a cracking, rumbling noise, I felt the earth a few feet away from my head shift, and a new shadowy figure was suddenly looming over me. Two new voices entered in, one soft and mild, the other grating and irritable sounding. Yet more talking ensued, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda, more stuff I can't understand. This just keeps getting more fun, doesn't it kids? Out of nowhere, a pair of arms scooped me up, one hand supporting me under the shoulders and the other hooked under my knees so that I was held in an awkward diagonal bridal carry across the new arrival's body.

A thought drifted across my mind as I glanced weakly into the strange, mime-like face of my carrier, speculating on how weird and slightly frightening it was not having the strength to lift my own head properly. The face was two toned, split down the centre on a perfect line of symmetry; pitch black on one side, chalk white on the other, both underneath a thatch of dim green-grey hair. The black half of the face didn't seem to have much of an expression, due in part to the fact that the eye on that side was merely a gleaming gold orb. The other half of the face revealed an look somewhere between pity, curiosity, and indifference. Then, the face was lost in shadow, and the rumbling, cracking noise of shifting rock lulled me off to sleep.

* * *

I woke in a new room. More unfamiliar places. Fun shit.

Well, a moment's inspection told me that this place was at least better than my previous digs. The bed, instead of an uncomfortable cot, actually _was_ a bed. The walls and floor were cracked concrete again, but there was a dingy cream colored rug on the floor, which I guess brightened things up a bit. The furniture of the room consisted of a plain wooden chair and a low, Japanese style table with a couple of battered looking kneeling mats in the centre of the floor. On one wall, there was a doorway hung with what I think was an old green shower curtain. It was pulled to one side, and just beyond it I could see a toilet and frosted glass shower door. On the wall above my bed was a window, filtering in the sickly greenish yellow lights of a city night between burglar bars.

I was in the T-shirt and baggy pants – I could see that the robe had been draped unceremoniously over one of the metal bedposts. In a strange way, it almost felt normal. I was so warm, and so comfortable in my baggy clothes, cuddled up in the sleep nest I had burrowed for myself. Within moments, I was asleep again.

I woke again hours later with muggy sunlight in my face, and promptly rolled over and tugged the covers up over my head.

Then I realized that they weren't my covers.

"What the--!"

I sat up frantically and wound up with a rather nasty combination of whiplash and brain pain.

"Owwwwwww…" I groaned, flopping back on the pillow. "Okay, bad idea…"

I lay on my back for a while, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes and grumbling about the unfairness of daylight. The pain of my attempted rise from bed had snapped recent events back into place. I briefly entertained the idea that it had all been a dream, but the new bed, clothes, and room, not to mention the bruises left on my chest from playing CPR class dummy kind of killed that hope as soon as it came.

"Fuck," I sighed, trying my hand at sitting up again, taking it slowly this time. "Ugh…morning," I muttered, scratching the back of my head.

"Ohayo,"

"SON OF A BITCH!"

I twisted around in a desperate effort to find the source of the voice, my brain not being awake enough to identify sound direction just yet. Unfortunately, my brain was also not awake enough at this point to maintain anything even resembling balance, so the sudden onset of thrashing and flailing, accompanied with tangled blankets and a small, strange bed came to the inevitable result of me on my ass on the floor, now kicking and squirming in an attempt to escape the net of my covers while still trying to figure out where the voice had come from.

The really impressive bit is that all this took place in the space of around five seconds, tops.

A pair of arms, (one pitch black, one snowy white, both wiry and muscular) grabbed me under the armpits while two voices, (one gentle and admonishing and the other nothing short of pissed off) babbled along in gibberish. The arms hoisted me out of the blankets and set me effortlessly on my feet. I laughed awkwardly and turned around, rubbing the back of my head and probably not doing my bedhead any favors in the process.

"Thanks for that, dude. I'm not much of a morning person, y'kn—"

What the fuck…..

…

…

…

"…Wha -- ?"

This, I recall thinking, is definitely the single most dedicated and elaborate cosplay troupe I have ever seen or heard tell of.

I've been to cons. I've seen Akatsuki cosplayers. And I've seen the epic failures that do befall the poor bastard dressed up like Zetsu. I'd seen painted cardboard, old green pantyhose stuffed creatively with cotton swabs…hell; I'd seen some pretty damn good ones, too. But this? This was…too good. Like some guy seriously found a way to genetically alter an actual Venus flytrap to grow large enough to engulf a human torso and climbed inside it. It was scary good.

Then again…it was the real deal, so I guess that's to be expected, huh?

Yeah…I'm just gonna shut up now…

"Zetsu" was quick to throw up his hands in a placating gesture and immediately he began to babble something that, by the tone, I surmised was something along the lines of "Please don't scream, I'm not going to hurt you, I swear!"

I was getting entirely too good at guessing what people were saying based entirely on tone and body language.

In the back of my mind, it struck me that it was strange that I had already adapted to the fact that I was being spoken to in Japanese by a mime in a venus flytrap who had either been in the room already and I hadn't noticed, or walked in through the wall, which at this point wouldn't surprise me that much.

I shrugged and waved my hand, saying "It's cool, I don't care anymore." I hoped he could read tone and body language as well. He gave me a small, sad, pensive smile and pointed to himself.

"Zetsu," he said. I smiled.

"Gwen," I replied. Come to think of it, he was the first person who had actually bothered to introduce himself, even if, at the time, I thought he was a legit Japanese otaku and was taking his cosplay way too seriously. But, I've learned not to openly disagree with crazy people. Logic is futile, so why bother? We were teetering on the edge of awkward silence when there was a loud hissing noise and the door swung open.

Scary Dude and some chick who I immediately began mentally referring to as Blue, on account of her odd hair color, entered. Zetsu bowed. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and pointed.

"Uhhm…should I be doing that?" Scary Dude gave me a death glare. "What?" I cried innocently. "I'm an ugly uncultured American, I don't know this stuff!"

"…Next time and after that you should, yes." He said, with the air of somebody explaining something very obvious.

"Alright, then, I'll keep that in mind," I said. He didn't look very impressed. Hey, I'm trying here.

"This will being your room, for you to be safe. Zetsu will overlook you for today. Konan," he gestured to the woman, who inclined her head slightly. I remembered enough about Japanese culture to know that I was supposed to bow lower…unless I dreamed that rule. I don't know. I gave it a shot and she looked satisfied, so I guess not. Scary Dude continued: "…will look for you tomorrow, and she is to be teaching you to talk our words." Japanese lessons from a Konan cosplayer…I could live with that. "Kakuzu will watch you three time, following Konan and Zetsu. You have met him once. Then again Zetsu, Konan, Kakuzu; Zetsu, Konan, Kakuzu, excepting if one is gone they will being in order all days. You are understanding, yes?"

…Hold the phone. Kakuzu? I'm getting babysat…by Kakuzu? The same Kakuzu who had to be partnered with an immortal priest so that he would stop going through partners like toilet paper due to his fits of rage? That Kakuzu?

Hey, wait one sec! This guy won't be the real Kakuzu. Where the hell did that come from? It's just some guy in a hood and mask, probably with stitch tattoos if he takes this crap as seriously as the rest of these guys do. Come to think of it, assuming he's in character…he might still kill me in a temper tantrum…

Well, goodbye cruel world.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Zetsu seemed perfectly happy to sit in comfortable silence with me, and I spent most of the day staring out the window and watching the goings on in the dingy streets below. I also showered, thank god, because I had been beginning to smell. There were some little hotel-style soaps and shampoos, but no razor, which I have to say was a huge letdown. I'd been looking forward to de-sasquatch-ifying myself. Around noonish, he poked his head out the door, spoke a bit more gibberish, and when he pulled back inside, he had a tray of food in his hands.

Lunch was an amiable enough event, though my legs started to burn about ten minutes in from kneeling at the little table in my room. I couldn't name what the food consisted of, but whatever it all was, I was thankful for the large glass of water that it came with, because that shit was _spicy_.

Around sundown, Konan came in to take Zetsu's place, bringing dinner. We ate in awkward silence, and then she promptly ordered me to go to sleep. She knew a bit of English, about as much as Scary Dude -- fuck it. Pein. I give up.

Anywho, by the end of the next day I had a sheet with characters of (one of) the Japanese alphabets and the corresponding sound spelled out in English. Again I bathed excessively between lessons for lack on ANYTHING better to do, and I asked Konan if I could have a razor. She looked at me like I was insane. I dropped the subject. And then, that evening…came Kakuzu.

I really, really hate that guy.

Like, it's not even a love-hate thing. It's not like I just find the guy endearingly irritating and I just don't know it yet. I flat out despise him. He apparently thinks that food is for pansies, because he wouldn't eat anything and instead opted to glare at me all through mealtimes. Then he pretty much shoved Konan's practice sheet under my nose and forced me to sit there studying all. Fucking. Day.

I swear to god, you'd think I'd failed a class and he was tying to make sure I passed the next test or something. He wouldn't even let me get up to whiz. I feel like an immature brat for thinking this, but I seriously can't wait for him to die. Unfortunately, Kakuzu was soon to become the least of my problems:

I had been in the shower – again – when I realized that I was all out of mini conditioner. And considering all the bathing over the past few days, all the shampoo I'd been using was beginning to damage my hair, so this was a serious problem. So I got out of the shower, folded my robe loosely around my shoulders, and poked my head out the bathroom and held up the empty bottle, giving Zetsu the most pathetic, pleading look I could muster. He caught the drift and, looking mildly exasperated, went to the door.

His back was turned, but I didn't need to see his hands to know that he had just brought them together in a "seal," just like everyone else did when they opened the door. I had tried copying the sign in the shower, but I could never quite shape my fingers right. Not that it mattered much – as if I would ever get a chance to make it to the door without the day's designated babysitter noticing.

Anywho, gibberish ensued, Zetsu left, and was replaced by a tall, hollow cheeked, pale faced guy with inky hair hanging down his back and parted to the side, covering one purple-tattooed eye. Yeah, I remembered seeing someone creepy, pale and Orochimaru-ish just before I passed out after the lake incident, but I had chalked most of anything I remembered from that particular period of time as hallucination. Actually, scratch that: I had pretty much blocked the whole thing out. It's not the sort of thing one typically tries to dwell on.

So when Orochimaru walked into my room to watch me while Zetsu walked through the wall, presumably in search of haircare products, the entire thing sort of hit me.

It was insane; it was impossible; it was ridiculous, it was…it was…it was like bad fanfiction!

I was at least twenty stories off the ground, being held in a crappy little room, under constant surveillance by Zetsu, Konan, Kakuzu, and now, Orochimaru. Zetsu had just fazed through a fucking wall to grab hair conditioner. Konan, _the_ Konan, was teaching me Japanese, which suggested strongly that I was going to be here for a while. This was insane. _Insane._ Things like this didn't even not happen to normal people – this didn't happen to_ anybody_!

I wasn't even aware of sitting down, clutching my robe so tight around me that the folds began to dig into my neck and cut off air and blood flow. My denial shattered like a stained glass window, and with a horrible, blinding suddenness I began to see the truth of what was happening. It was too big – too outlandish. How was I supposed to deal with this? I was just…I was tiny and seventeen; I could barely take care of myself in my own world. What was I supposed to do here? What was going on? Why? Why me? Why me?

"Why me?" I whimpered aloud. "Why me? Why me? Why me?" It became like a mantra, the words slurring and running together as I hyperventilated. I felt a pressure in my face that I knew was blood rushing to my head. And then I knew no more.

Yes, I passed out again. I wonder if I should make this like a drinking game -- every time something causes me to lose consiousness, you take a shot! Then we can see who dies first of alcohol poisoning. Aaaanywho...

I woke just a second later with Orochimaru prying my hands from the folds of my robe and trying to simultaneously loosen it from around my neck.

Before that moment, I had no idea that it was physically possible to move that fast in a backwards crab walk.

You know that creepy ass grin that Orochimaru is always flashing in the show? You can't even imagine how much creepier it is in real life. How he gets any fucking subordinates is beyond me. I was crammed up between him and the corner where the shower door met the wall, and making a concerted effort to make myself smaller as he advanced, saying words that I suppose were meant to be comforting…or at least, would have been if I a. wasn't in the middle of a mental breakdown, or b. could understand a word of it.

The sannin crouched down to my eyelevel and placed a hand on top of my head. Again, I moved faster than I would have thought myself capable and darted out from under him and shot out of the bathroom, screaming "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

I then proceeded to crash headlong into Zetsu.

Whoopsie.

I can only imagine what the poor guy was thinking in that moment – me, in nothing but my robe, pelting out of the bathroom with Orochimaru close behind, slamming into him and causing him to drop his armload of conditioner bottles, then flipping out even more and trying to cram myself under the bed.

For the past week or so that I'd been stuck with these people, all that was happening had processed as something of an ironic joke to me; a "This _would_ happen to me of all people, wouldn't it?" kind of mentality. Now I was actually trying to face myself with the truth, and it terrified me. Zetsu tried to coax me out from under the bed, but gave up about half an hour after Orochimaru left.

His light half's kind voice, I could tell, was trying to ask what was wrong. The dark half was probably telling me that I was being a moron and that the bed wasn't going to protect me from a damn thing. I just blubbered on along the vein of "I want to go home, I don't know what's going on, please, just let me go home, I can't handle this, please….."

I fell asleep under the bed. I woke up under the covers to the sound of Konan placing the breakfast tray on the table. That day went by with Konan teaching and me staring at my hands, not talking. My mind turned over and over each piece of possibly relevant information from every physics documentary and inter-dimensional travel theory and sci-fi movie I had ever seen, trying to figure out how any of this was possible. At lunch, I tried to ask Konan how I had gotten here, but she either couldn't figure out what I was saying or pretended not to.

For the next few weeks, I was a zombie, working through in my mind the who's what's when's where's and whys of the situation. At some point Zetsu brought in a mahjong board, but I ignored it for a while. Every now and then, one of my normal babysitters would be off doing something and I would end up with someone else, which is how I met Itachi, Kisame, some random guy who I was guessing was yet another of Kakuzu's soon-to-die partners (only met him once, unsurprisingly) and on a few occasions was even reunited with Eyelashes, aka Sasori.

Then finally, one day, something actually happened. It was a Kakuzu day, and I was just staring blankly out the window, practice sheet dangling limply from my fingers. I wasn't even pretending to read it. And Kakuzu had given up trying to make me do anything, as had everyone else for that matter, since the only thing they ever got in return was a resentful glare. I had stopped with the constant showers, if only because my supply lines of hygiene products had been cut – I guess I'd been using up too much. And suddenly, the door banged open and in stalked Pein.

Thing about good ol' Leader-sama: he doesn't walk. Ever. He prowls, he strides, he pads, he stalks, and from time to time he glides, but this was very definitely a stalk, so a stalk is what I shall call it.

What followed was a long and grueling session of "good cop bad cop," only without good cop. Pein demanded to know how far along the Naruto manga was, or if it was finished, who Kishimoto Masashi was, and how much longer till the series ended.

Now, here I was faced with a rather interesting dilemma. Despite all proof that, impossible as it all was, this was real (I had begun a halfhearted attempt to convince myself that I was dreaming, but it wasn't going over so well) I was still having serious issues getting my head around it. But even so, could I take the chance that this wasn't real and tell the truth? And more importantly, could I get a lie past Pein?

In the end, I decided to go with the old foolproof technical half-truth. I had been following the weekly scanslations back home, and the story was right up at the point where Sasuke learned the truth about what really went down with the Uchiha clan, so I decided to tell Pein that I had made it to Itachi's brother hunting him down and picking a fight. As for Kishimoto, I told him that he was just some awesome nerdy Japanese guy who wanted to make a manga about fox demons and came up with Naruto, and that he more than likely had no idea that this world was real.

He left, and I hoped to god he'd believed me. But this incident had raised yet more interesting questions – if this place really was real, and I wasn't dreaming, how could it be? It was something that had been borne from the mind of a slightly pervy Japanese guy. Where did these people get off being real? And what happened to fanfiction? Were there thousands of alternate universes made up of fictional universes and subdivided by fanfictions? Or did a world need to be published in order to get its own dimension?

I didn't even realize that I had sat down and started playing the mahjong board until I knocked over one of the stacks of matched tiles I had built up at my side. It was that night I decided to start this mental journal.

Which brings us to the present. Kinda.

A few days after my last…entry? I guess? Konan told me that they had decided I could leave the room every now and again, as long as I have a constant escort. Apparently my knowledge of the "future" made me a potential target, should word leak of my existence. Not that I listened. Or for that matter, cared.

So, about two weeks ago I was wandering around with Kisame, and an Amegakure ANBU messenger ran up and gave him an urgent message. JabberJaw looked a bit torn for a minute, and finally told me firmly to stay _right there_, pressed a kunai into my hand, and ran off.

I'm not really sure of the dynamic between Ame and Akatsuki, but it seems like they've sort of got a symbiotic relationship – like, Ame houses their organization, and they work on call as the village trump card? I dunno. In any case, Akatsuki seems to stay in their version of Konoha's Kage building, a staircase in the courtyard of which I had been left standing on. I crossed my arms and scowled after Kisame. I love how I'm always completely in the dark.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting against a tree humming showtunes.

"Everyone's a little bit racist, sometiiiiiiiimes…"

Were those footsteps?

"Doesn't mean we go around committing, hate criii-hi-iiiimes…"

Yeah…someone coming upstairs? Meh, I probably don't know 'em. I'll just go right on singing.

"Look around and you will find, no one's really color-blind…"

Two people. They can probably hear me singing if they're ninjas. I'll quiet down a tad, but I'm not gonna shut up.

"Maybe it's a fact we all should faaaaa-a-ace, everyone makes judgments – based on race!"

Are they arguing? What, they breaking up? This sounds break-upish. Two dudes, I think. Not that there's anything wrong with that…

…

Okay, nevermind, this sounds more like someone trying to seduce someone else. I'm…not sure if I want to be around for this. Especially because I'm pretty sure one of those voices is Orochimaru.

Fucking creep.

Prolly trying to get in some ten year old's pants.

Every fiber of my common sense and better judgment screamed at me to just sit right there and wait for Kisame. But hey, I'm seventeen. Since when do I to listen to things like reason?

So, like an idiot, and got up, brushed off the seat of my pants, and started off down the wide steps towards where I heard the voices. One corner later, I found Itachi, his back to me, facing off against Orochimaru, who was quivering in place and staring at the younger boy with one of his infamous pedo smirks. His reptilian eyes flashed over Itachi's shoulder at me, and the smirk widened.

I mentioned he's a creeper, right?

I realized too late what I had walked in on – this was that flashback where Orochimaru gets pwned. And while I was all up for seeing the snakey sunuvabitch get his ass kicked, I didn't want to be in the vicinity of the event, and I SERIOUSLY didn't want to change it. So, naturally, I tried to leave.

Then a massive python shot out of the ground and coiled around me.

Well, nevermind then.

To this day, I don't know how I did it, or where it came from, but I reacted immediately and slashed the snake with Kisame's kunai. It shrieked – I didn't even know snakes _could_ shriek – and vanished in a poof of smoke. I looked over my shoulder to see what was going on: Orochimaru was trying desperately to bring his hands together, now positively vibrating in place and in obvious agony. Itachi pulled a kunai and slashed at the sannin, but he wrenched himself away and dodged around the Uchiha, coming straight at me.

I have almost zero memory of the next three seconds – I know I squeezed my eyes shut, and I know I moved, but I have no clue what exactly I did. All I know is that when I opened my eyes, one of Orochimaru's arms was lying in a spreading pool of blackish blood at my feet. The Sannin himself was gripping the stump just past his elbow and darting with inhuman speed to avoid Itachi, who swiped at him with a pair of knives. But before Itachi could strike, he vanished into the trees and fled, snatching his arm on the way.

The ensuing silence was shattered by the sharp clang of the kunai slipping from my fingers and hitting the blood spattered stone. I stumbled backwards away from the pool of blood and landed on my ass, gaping at it as the weight of what I had just done descended.

I had just cut off someone's fucking arm. Never mind that it was a psychotic pedophilic mad scientist – Never mind that he was just going to body hop and get a new one. I had just maimed someone without a second thought. And besides that, I now had yet more irrefutable proof that I was actually in a fictional universe.

Now, I know what you're thinking: I'm going to faint again. Actually, no. I managed to stay conscious this time. I'm pretty sure at this point I'm just so used to traumatizing events that I've become desensitized. I did, however, space out – my entire world tunneling down to the bloody smear and the conflicted guilt roiling in the pit of my stomach.

In fact, I was so spaced out that I didn't notice the rest of the Akatsuki showing up and crowding me and Itachi. Until, of course, Zetsu helped me to my feet and gently turned me around, at which point Konan guided me by the shoulders from the scene.

I wound up playing mahjong in my room the rest of the day, until around lights-out when Kakuzu came in and beckoned me along. I followed him out into the hallway.

"What er…what is…going…" I was trying to ask where we were going, but despite the fact that I knew I had learned the words, they didn't seem to much feel like coming to mind. Kakuzu got the gist, though.

"You are being moved," he said crisply.

"Where?"

"A new room."

"Oh…" I murmured. Was I going back to the first room – the little dungeon I had first woken up in? Or was I being placed under higher security, never again to leave a single area? Well, at the very least… "May I keep the mahjong?"

Kakuzu stared at me, eyes unreadable. "We'll see," he muttered at last. Well, that lifted hope a little, at least. I continued trotting after Kakuzu with slightly uplifted spirits, and at last we reached a sliding door in a slightly more residential looking area of the building. People we passed bowed to Kakuzu and whispered amongst themselves. I had never really understood the phrase "feeling someone's eyes on you" until that moment, and I can tell you, it's a damn weird sensation.

The room was considerably nicer than my old one – the window was larger and cleaner, and the chakra bars were artfully shaped like wrought iron. The bed, instead of the metal frame infirmary room model, was a large unfolded futon sofa with a massive comforter folded up at one end, and next to it, a nightstand with an old fashioned alarm clock and desk lamp. A few tasteful wall scrolls hung from the dark wood panel walls, the floor was laid with tatami mats, and just like the old room, a low table with cushions set around it occupied the center of the room – in short, it wasn't far from how I imagined a typical Japanese guest bedroom.

"I will bring your game," Kakuzu growled, interrupting my thoughts. Then he somehow managed to slam a sliding door and left. Locking it behind him.

Here we go again.

So, past two days the only contact I've had has been Kakuzu coming back with the mahjong board and Ame nin bringing meals…and then running out of the room quick as possible. Cutting off Orochimaru's arm evidently equals big medicine around here. Go fig.

But, anywho, yea. That about catches us up to now. I remain in a state of wishful thinking, hoping against hope that one of these mornings I'll wake up in my own bed, and then go to school and tell the guys about the wacky-ass dream I had. But the longer this goes on, the less likely a possibility that seems, and slowly I am beginning to accept the situation. I almost feel guilty about it, to tell the truth. But what else am I supposed to do?

Well, guess I'd better sign off. Here's a guy with dinner, so I guess I'll be back for more emotional dumping when something else comes up. Ta for now.

(A/N): Alright, in case it wasn't clear enough, the news that Kisame was called to attend was the discovery of Orochimaru's plans for what to do to Itachi, and the ensuing manhunt. I probably should have made more obvious, but whatever. now you know. Sorry this took so long, but stuff came up, and I was working on my dirt slow laptop, and rawr. Life. As for Gwen killing the snake summons and cutting off Oro's arm, I'm calling adrenaline on this one. People have done far more increddible things under its influence, this is not _that_ outlandinsh! Leave me alone!

Anyways, next chapter will be up whenever. Don't hold your collective breath, you all should know how slow I am by now XD


	4. Hitting the Fan

(A/N): So, here's chapter four. I've recently had a big Star Wars kick, but I'm trying my damndest to use this as an opportunity to train myself in the fine art of multi-fandom obsessing =_= Here's hoping I can manage…

Disclaimer: if you recognize it from the outside world, chances are it's not mine, and whoever it _does_ belong to has a really good lawyer. If you are said lawyer and you're reading this, this is me saying that no copyright infringement is intended, and I'm not making any money off of my fanfiction. By the way, is that a new suit? It looks fantastic on you. Almost hides those bulging muscles. What do you bench, 300? 350? C'mon, you, don't be modest!

English

Japanese

* * *

It's times like these that the song "Lawyers Guns and Money" gets stuck in my head, and I'll tell you why: that one damn line that i always want to start singing when stuff like this happens.

"_Well I'm hiding in Honduras; _

_I'm a desperate man. _

_Said Lawyers Guns and Money; _

_the shit has hit the fan."_

"The shit has hit the fan." Perfect description of how I feel about this whole Orochimaru business. See, it's like this: four days ago, not long after I finished my last mental entry, I finally got some fucking answers. The bad news: they didn't make me feel any better; just a little less confused.

See, according to Pein, Orochimaru had been planning to, once he took over Itachi's body, come after me. It wasn't until that point that I was actually_ told_ how significant I am to Akatsuki: I know things that nobody else knows. I know the motivations behind things that nobody else will find out for years. Of course, I'd guessed all that anyway, but this is the first time anyone's said it outright. And this, of course, means that, should they so choose, Akatsuki could very easily fuck up the course of history as I know it, just by getting me to reveal one pivotal detail.

The incident a few weeks ago with Pein demanding to know how far along the story was (god knows why he waited that long to ask) was to get a feel for exactly what I knew so that he could get down to trying to weave that into his master plans. The obvious downside to this whole thing is that, once they've used me, pretty much everything I know becomes bunk. So now I'm a trump card. Awesome, right?

The Orochimaru incident is going to be a problem, since now that he's enemies with Akatsuki it's likely any information on them is going to be up for the highest bidder, me included. So, they moved me to a more high security area closer to the Akatsuki members' quarters to keep a better eye on me, hence the new room. Pein said that they're doing all they can to track him down, but as I know, that's not gonna work out. On top of the Orochimaru problem, the time has come for phase one of Pein's plan to go into effect, so now the Akatsuki are going to be scattered to the nine winds for a good seven years.

So, now, with half the Akatsuki absent, Orochimaru probably telling everyone and their mother about my existence, and me practically helpless in the world of ninjas, Pein has made the command decision to start me on a training regimen so that I can at least defend myself. So now my days basically consist of language lessons, trying to figure out the subtleties of flinging weapons at red circles, and long boring periods in which I sit around and play mahjong.

Now, I of course have my own concerns about this whole affair. For one thing, I'm not too happy with the idea of staying here until such a time as I am useful. For another, when and if they do use me, the course of events as I know it will probably cease to exist. Not only will I be right back to wallowing in confusion and guesswork, what will they do to me once I'm no longer an asset? Somehow, I get the feeling I won't like it.

Frankly, I'm surprised I remember the whole conversation, because while Pein was explaining all this I was being allowed to leave the Kage Tower premesis for the first time. People stared at the Akatsuki leader with mingled terror and hero worship. They stared at me with mingled respect and curiosity – in retrospect I think they may have thought I was a new prospective member or something. As soon as we exited the Village gates (gatekeepers bowing the whole time), Pein picked me up under his arm like a sack of flour and darted into the trees.

You know tree-jump travel in the show? How it looks so easy and calming and repetitive? Yea…no. It only looks like that because actually drawing people bouncing upside down and sideways off trees is too difficult to animate, so they make it look like the shinobi-verse has veritable _roads_ of perfectly straight branches to hop off of.

I've never been so nauseous in my life; I almost blew chunks all over Pein's robe.

After an hour or so of extremely uncomfortable travel, we at last came to a river gorge that I recognized immediately: the entrance to Akatsuki's jinchuuiriki…sacrificey…statue thing. Pein opened the boulder and pushed me inside ahead of him. The boulder slammed shut, leaving us in total blackness. Pein grabbed my elbow from out of nowhere, causing me to squeak in a very undignified manner, and hauled me off into the black. I tried, for a while, to keep track of turns and distances and stuff, but I gave up like, two minutes in. When I started being allowed to walk around, Kakuzu gave me a pair of woven reed flip-flops; good thing, too, because this place was cold as fuck and had really rough, uneven flooring. Kind of like a cave.

'_waaaait a second…'_

At the precise second that suspicion began to leech into my brain, we came to a large, creaky door and walked through into a carved rock tunnel, with bare fluorescent light tubes and heavy wood frame door We kept moving, down the tunnels and stone staircases, until we came to the largest door of them all, with no handle and a seal tag in the center. Pein made a hand-seal and the seal glowed faintly and dimmed as the door swung inwards. Suspicions confirmed: we're back at the subterranean lake.

As we again strolled across the inky water, I peered up at Pein.

"Why are we here?" I asked; my Japanese has been getting pretty good, if I do say so myself.

"You are about to get your answers," and with no further ado whatsoever, Pein launched into an explanation: of how the barriers between worlds were weaker in some places than others, and of how this lake was one such spot. How with a nudge of chakra, this water became a mirror of sorts into my dimension.

Yea, I don't get it either. Turns out that Anime, when made real, makes even less sense than it does as a cartoon.

Pein wove his fingers into a seal and the water under our feet lit up, just like last time. This time, I was quick to leap out of the light, unwilling to go through another light-column-death-thing. Mind you, most of the reason I made it out this time was that Pein didn't try to stop me, instead stepping out to the other side of the circle and looking at me like I was an idiot. I think he did that on purpose…

The first image came so fast, I thought I had blinked funny and missed something. But then another came, and another, until soon they were flashing, one after another, like a flipbook of National Geographic photos of the world. I felt tears come to my eyes as things I had thought I'd never see again – the Eiffel tower, city streets, parks and woods, waterfalls and monuments and all the places I had never been able to go and now never would – all passed before me, so fleetingly fast that I had to fight to stop from blinking so that I could drink in as much of home as I could this one last time.

After a minute, the images began to slow, focusing in on the white marble buildings I had come to know, closer, onto streets teeming with tourists, closer, downtown, to that fateful intersection that had been the stage for my last memory of my last life, and yet closer, to the dingy, dusty little bookshop where a wearily smiling blonde woman – Christ, _Melanie_ – stood with an infant bundled in her arms.

So she'd had the kid – of course she'd had the kid, she'd been fit to burst when I died. She was talking to the shop owner, who stood behind the counter grinning in that stupid way people do for babies and waving his finger at it playfully.

"Look closely," Pein intoned, his voice breaking through the fog of longing nostalgia that had taken a hold of my mind. I looked. And two things caught my attention almost immediately.

First was the small display on the front counter that I knew had never been there before: a photograph of me, Melanie, and the owner, old mister Bingo, grinning out front of the shop at the twenty year opening anniversary; the photo had been handsomely reframed in rich mahogany with gold trim, and at the bottom, I squinted to see, the words _In Memoriam_ etched in gold script. Surrounding the photo were small glass vases of silk flowers and a miniature incense burner.

'_They made a shrine for me,'_ I thought, at once deeply moved and freshly upset, faced once more with undeniable proof that I was, in fact, dead.

The other thing I saw was the bookshelf behind Melanie, which held what I could tell was a new stock of Manga – Naruto included.

"Ah," was all I could get out. "So…that is how you knew the books?"

"Yes," Pein said calmly.

"If I may ask," I said hesitantly – that was a phrase I'd had to learn early on, as most of the Akatsuki are loath to waste their time answering stupid questions for a depressed prisoner – "if you need a person who knows the books, why not take a person who talks this language? Somebody from the place where this language is talked. The books – they come from that place as well. That would be easier, yes?"

"It would have been more convenient," Pein admitted. "But that shop in your world lines up with this exact spot in ours. If we'd brought somebody from elsewhere, they would have ended up in the corresponding place in this one and we would have had to go through the trouble of hunting them down. Akatsuki has better things to worry about. So, we combined our efforts to pass a genjutsu through the portal to momentarily blind the man who ran you over."

…

…

Son of a bitch.

Maybe I'd only understood about a third of what Pein had said, but I'd caught enough.

Why didn't I see this coming? Why the hell am I surprised? And why didn't I think about this in the first place? What have I been thinking, that I failed to look both ways before I crossed the street and just drew the afterlife's short straw? I've spent this whole time moping over the "why" and never even considered the "how!"

This time, I didn't faint. I didn't pass out. And I didn't nearly drown. No, _this_ time I turned on my heel and stalked off across the lake, a cold rage bubbling up inside me the likes of which I had never felt.

"Guen."

Pein didn't bark the word, or snap it, like most leaders would. In fact, his voice was almost toneless. But it held a command that was impossible to ignore. I froze in my tracks.

"_What?"_

"You have training with Sasori in half an hour. Now is not the time for a temper tantrum. You know how he is about deadlines."

"You killed me. Piss off." I resumed my dramatic exit. All seemed to be going well until out of nowhere I slammed into something warm and solid. Damn Ninjas.

"You're walking in the wrong direction," He said down at me, voice flat.

"I'd rather walk away wrong than be near all of you!" random fact: language barriers make anger really difficult to pull off.

"If you don't want to die a second time, you will return to your room and obey Akatsuki. Now come along."

"Better dead than here!" I screamed. "Who is caring if I died again?! Tell me what is left to try living for!" I was ranting now, on the verge of angry tears, and I knew I looked a mess. But I was past caring. I just stood there, trying to glare properly through a blur of saline, willing my nose not to start running, and hyperventilating like an asthmatic at a track meet.

Pein grabbed me by the shoulders. "This organization," he said slowly. "Is what you have now. You are of value to us. We are your comrades, Guen."

"_Comra_—you fucking _killed_ me, you bastard!"

"And now you have a life with a purpose. Now, you will further the goals of Akatsuki and save this world. What would you have done with yourself, had I left you in your world?"

"Been happy, for a thing!" I shrieked, hysterical. "Not sat spoiling in a god-damn locked room for two thing!"

I'd been trying to say "been happy, for one thing, and not sat moldering away in a god-damn prison for another," but the closest possible synonym I had for "molder" was "spoil" (and that only because I'm always told to eat my food "before it spoils" when I'm particularly depressed), so that was the best I had.

Having the cumulative grammar of a four year old makes being taken seriously very difficult. No wonder little kids get so mad sometimes.

Again, I whirled away and stalked off, this time presumably in the right direction. Obviously not getting the point (or choosing to ignore it, could have been either, really) Pein fell into step beside me, and just half a step ahead; his passive aggressive "alpha male assertion" I guess.

"So…" I snapped into the awkward silence of the cave. "My walk on water…how?"

Translation: "So…why can I walk on water?" Again, bad vocabulary. And don't think I'm over this whole murder thing, because I most certainly am _not._ But damn it all if I don't still want answers

"This lake is not normal; not for you, at least," he said. "I am using chakra to walk on it, but you are still partially connected to your world, and since in your world, the mirror side of this lake is solid ground, your chakra responds to that, allowing you to walk with ease."

…you know, it's just lucky I'm not a physics buff, or I'm pretty sure I'd have slit my wrists by this point.

"Did you not just say I am dead?"

"Had you died entirely in your world, you would have moved on to the afterlife – however, because we pulled your spirit through the gap before it could move on, it is now partially connected to both your home and this world."

"What of my body? I saw it, when you last dragged me here." ("Dragged" is a word I picked up from Kakuzu – it's his preferred method of moving me around when I don't feel like listening to him. But seriously, now that I'd had the thought I was kind of starting to freak out…)

"The physical world is all but meaningless, and the spirit transcends more than you could ever imagine."

"…_what?_"

"I am not sure of the specifics, but it seems that when your spirit was forced back into the physical world, it needed a new vessel."

"…so…I am a ghost or something?" At least I can do casual phrases alright…

"A…_goust?_"

"Um…like a yokai or shinigami, I guess. I don't know what your idea for it is, but like a dead person who comes back as a…shadow?" despite the shittiness of my description, he seemed to get where I was coming from.

"No," Pein said. "I believe your spirit recreated your old body in order to exist in this world."

At that point, I again felt solid ground beneath my feet, and realized we had reached the shore. Pein kept going towards the faint square outline of light that was the door, and I trotted at his heels, unable to do anything else.

"And you were knowing this was to happen before you…?"

"No."

"So I might have be dead now?!"

Again, translation: "You mean I could have died?!"

What I _really_ wanted to say was a full-fledged monologue about the ethics of pulling an innocent manga fan across an inter-dimensional rift to further one's plans for world domination when there's no assurance whatsoever they'll survive the effort, but once more the language monster barred my path.

"You might have," he allowed, opening the door and holding it behind him. "But you didn't."

Insufferable, manipulative prick. I marched off without another word to the dojo, where I knew Sasori would be pissed at me for being late.

Fuck him, he probably helped…

* * *

"You aren't aiming, brat."

"I am trying!"

"No, no you're not. You're_ looking_ at the target, but you're not _throwing_ at it."

"Well excuse my bad hand-eye coordination – OW!!"

"What did Konan-san tell you?"

"That fucking HURT! _Yeouch!_ SHIT!"

"Last week, _what_ did Konan-san say?"

"…Rrrgh! I-am-not-to-use-English-until-I-can-talk-this-language-right; _I know!_"

"You will never learn to communicate properly if you keep slipping back into your native tongue."

"…_what?_"

"My point exactly."

I sighed gloomily. Sasori is just one of those people who's always right, and always a dick about it.

"Alright, alright, I'll try again…"

"And _aim_ this time!"

"Yeah, whatever…"

'_Okay, stance; check. Grip; check, and aim; check. Eyes on the prize, baby, eyes on the prize…NOW-w-w-whoa!'_

_**clank**_

"AAAARGH!!! Damndamndamndamndamndamn_damn_!" I'd like to interject here that this was the first of many moments that I actually would feel like an anime character: how many times have you seen some poor sap with a learning block get fed up and start screaming "Kusokusokusokusokusokuso_kusoooo!_"?

They say when you can think in a language, you've become truly fluent. I don't know what it means when you can automatically express frustration through cursing, but it sure as hell makes you feel better.

"You still aren't aiming."

"I _am!_" I shrieked in protest, stamping a foot and pointing furiously at the target. "My shirt – arm – cloth…err, word?"

"Sleeves?"

"Yes! My sleeves are large and they twist and I can't move right!"

"Then you should have worn training clothes."

"What training clothes?! I own few smaller clothes than this; I think that Kakuzu-san gives me his old ones!" I waved my arms to demonstrate the absurd floppiness of the massive shirt. Sasori watched the display, quite obviously unimpressed.

"Come here, and sit down" he said at last. Raising an eyebrow, I lowered myself onto the bench that ran the length of the dojo wall. Sasori rummaged through his pockets, and muttered "Roll up your right sleeve." Still perplexed, I folded back the cloth to my shoulder and watched as the puppet-nin pulled out a bit of that fishing line stuff they use and a senbon needle.

Yes. This is going where you think it's going.

I couldn't help gaping at Akasuna no Sasori – _the_ Scorpion of the Red Sand – as he used the senbon to drive a hole through the fabric of my shirt just above where I'd rolled it, and then ran a bit of wire through, tying it off and repeating the process three times, so that when we stood back up, my sleeve was effectively tied back, leaving my arm free.

Now, maybe it was nothing fancy, but I'm pretty sure what he just did technically constitutes "sewing."

Mental note: as soon as fluency is achieved, become a shameless gossip and never, ever, _ever_ let Sasori live this down.

"Try again," he gave me a little push back towards the target range, and gulping, I retrieved the kunai I'd been practicing with for the past half hour. Jogging back behind the throwing line, I again set my stance, reeled back, aaaaand…

_**tchunk**_

Now, there seems to be controversy here on whether or not I made a bullseye. See, half of the kunai was sticking out of the red circle, and the other half was still on the white. I say, it's on the red, it's a fucking bullseye, so suck it. Sasori maintains that it doesn't count. But hey, the point is, I actually hit the target circle this time, and didn't do half bad either.

Unfortunately, through the remainder of the two hour session I didn't once manage to come quite that close again; and admittedly once he started me throwing with my left hand I was right back to struggling just to hit the target, but improvement's improvement, right?

Sasori said after training that the ("almost") bullseye that I got the first time was beginner's luck.

I say this game is rigged.

* * *

Well, enough for now; not much of particular has happened since that day.

However…for some reason, while I was in the shower earlier (around the time I started this entry), I remembered learning the five stages of grief in my psychology class.

Mind you, this is sort of a special case: special here meaning reversed. I'm not dealing with the death of a loved one; I'm dealing with being dead. Though on the other hand, I suppose you could say I've lost quite a lot, haven't I? So, I started trying to apply my feelings thus far to the stages of grief.

Denial, I think, started its downward spiral with the breakdown I had on the…you know…conditioner day. I know for a long time after that I felt guilty just to be alive while my family, friends, hell, everyone I knew was suffering, thinking I was dead. Even now whenever I smile at something, I feel a pang of indignation; like on some level I don't feel like I have any right to be happy.

Hopefully, if I keep telling myself that if my loved ones knew what had really happened, they wouldn't blame me and wouldn't want me to beat myself up over it, I'll eventually believe myself.

At the very least, now I know that it actually wasn't my fault for not just looking both ways before I crossed the street. Which brings us to stage two.

Anger.

* * *

(A/N): Dun-dun-_duuuuuuuuuuuun_. Don't worry, Gwen's not going to turn into a revenge machine like Sasuke – I wouldn't do that to you ;D. I know, I know, short chapter, but without the catchup info, there wasn't as much to say. I promise, things will get a little longer soon.

P.S. – no, I do not think the Shinobi-verse is actually the American east coast – as a separate world, plate tectonics more than likely worked out completely different from here, and as it just so happens that precise spot is at the corresponding longitude and latitude of the D.C. intersection where Gwen "died"


	5. Into the Lamp's Fire

(A/N): Thanks to reviewers; old, new, and yet to come ^^ I hope I can continue to please.

WARNING: this chapter contains strong themes of suicide – in order to write a realistic character who reacts in a realistic manner to extreme psychological stress and fear, I felt that this was a necessary contribution to the believability of the story.

Disclaimer: It ain't mine and I ain't getting paid for it. Happy?

* * *

Well, I don't know if Konan is more in touch with her feminine side than I ever would have guessed, Sasori complained to her about my hinderingly baggy clothes, or C, both of the above, but I just got a day of shop-therapy. I've never considered myself much of a shop-shop girl, but there is admittedly something to be said for getting new stuff – like you've got a sort of clean slate.

Mind you, Ninja villages don't have the widest or most impressive selection of fashion – particularly not a small one like Ame. However, I at least found a few suitable, serviceable outfits that actually _fit_. So, as I make this entry, I'm puttering around my room and finding places for my new stuff. The best part: Kakuzu's on duty for tonight, and I just _know_ he's seething over Konan _'wasting money'_ on me.

Allow me a moment to cackle in maniacal triumph.

Despite the ridiculous outfits you see…well, really, everyone in the show wearing, Konan is a firm believer in function over form: my three sets of shirt and pants are all interchangeably drab and camouflage-friendly. We also bought a pair of proper shoes – pretty standard issue open toe sandals, but dark green instead of the normal blue, and a few rolls of athletic tape, because…I don't know. I guess it looks cool. There's also a green camo waterproof poncho, a back hoodie, and some white leg warmers in there that I'm sure will come in handy, though as far as the leg warmers go, I'm not entirely sure how…

The outfits themselves are composed of three tops and three identical pairs of dark grey trousers with deep pockets, made of a fabric designed to be loose and light and not rustle very much when it moves. The shirts are all fairly similar and reminiscent of a tankini bathing suit I'd had back home: black; one square necked, one scoop, one halter, each with a diagonal stripe of color across the front, two narrow horizontal lines of fishnet over the stomach, and built in "support."

Pretty clever if you ask me – after all, why should a kunoichi have to waste her time with bra hooks in the middle of a night attack? It's one of those things that it seems obvious when you think about it, but it just never comes to mind.

We also bought a few pairs of underwear, a basic weapons kit (pouch included), some "feminine hygiene" stuff (because I'm sick of wadded toilet paper…TMI?), and a couple of academy level scrolls that I can study in my abundant spare time.

I'll still be using the old baggy crap for pajamas, but now at least they're serving their intended purpose…

Aaaaaand that should do it. Alright, a place for everything and everything in its place. And just in time for bed. Sweet.

I'll continue this entry whenever, as I can't help but feel it was a little unsatisfactorily short.

Night night…

* * *

Two days later –

So, here's an issue rarely addressed when American fanfiction characters wind up in my present situation: jutsu. Oh, sure, they do the handseals and something happens, but it turns out that the hand seals and the presence of chakra aren't enough. According to JapettoooooI-mean Sasori-sensei (as Konan now insists I call all the organization members), I have chakra – it's there, and it's usable. I'm just hopeless when it comes to accessing it, let alone molding it.

So far, in my training sessions, I've practiced Taijutsu and weaponry, and I've been learning the hand seals, but I have no indication of how chakra works. I think I can grasp what Zetsu's been describing as a flow of energy, similar to and yet far more subtle than the flow of blood through one's veins, but I can't be completely sure whether that _is_ my blood I'm feeling and I'm just telling myself it's chakra because I'm tired of trying.

Sasori left on a mission yesterday afternoon, so today I was stuck with Kakuzu teaching me.

Joy.

My fingers are sore and cramped and I can hardly aim them to grasp my mahjong tiles. Kakuzu gave me a line of crap about how I was going through the seals too slowly, but if you've ever actually _tried_ to do the Naruto hand seals (don't worry; I won't tell if you don't *shifty eyes*) you will know that they are a lot more anatomically difficult than the drawings make them look. So here's me, just trying to get the damn seals _right_, figuring I'll worry about my speed later, and Kakuzu's giving me shit about reaction time and reflexes. Prick.

Personally, I think he's just pissed because he's got a new partner to deal with – some dude named Bangai. He apparently joined up about a month ago, though I didn't meet him till last week. I'm not sure what his abilities are, but apparently he joined on invitation from Pein – I don't know the precise circumstances. But I guess if Pein actually asked him to join, he's gotta have something pretty crazy going for him. Weird, because from how the other members talk about him he sounds like kind of a quack…

I feel like I should be a little more sympathetic towards the guy, knowing he'll be facing death-by-Kakuzu any day now, but…I'm finding it hard to feel too bad for him. The guy creeps me out; I couldn't tell you why. It's not that he's _done_ anything, but…somehow I just really feel iffy about him. I think it's something about his smile, but – meh, it's probably nothing. I'm just so used to dealing with the same people day after day; a new face is freaking me out. Especially after the Orochimaru incident.

Anyway, Kakuzu's got me starting with clone – simple enough in theory, just a matter of calling up a genjutsu of yourself as precise in detail as possible. By the end of the lesson I'd managed vaguely human shaped smoke. Kakuzu disagrees on the "human shaped" bit, but I'm pretty sure he's just bitter because I wore the new clothes for the first time today. In your face, you Shelley-inspired cheapskate! That poof totally had legs.

After that, he made me practice shuriken techniques – stupid, really, because I can still barely throw Kunai. Shuriken are a deal harder – it's like trying to fling a small. Flat, surprisingly heavy Frisbee, except with a Frisbee you don't run the risk of losing a few fingers if you screw up. As you may have already assumed, I didn't make a single bullseye.

So today didn't go too well. The only real bright side so far is that about twenty minutes ago, Bangai came running into my room babbling something about "new mission," "client request," and "leave immediately."

For a minute I thought Kakuzu was going to kill the guy right then and there – I didn't catch much of his response, but he sounded pretty indignant – something close to "Who thinks they're so important that they can request my services personally?"

Bangai shrugged and answered with something about Leader-sama's orders, which seemed to about end the argument. Kakuzu still looked annoyed, however, and cut his eyes in my direction, rumbling "Who's going to watch the brat?"

My pride at being able to adequately translate something is a bit dampened by the insult, I'll admit, but hey; I like to think that small victories count for something.

Bangai said something about Itachi being along in a few minutes, and Kakuzu, still scowling under his mask, stormed out the door, making sure to throw the usual "don't do anything stupid" jab over his shoulder.

I flipped him the bird the instant the door was closed.

It almost made me feel better about the look Bangai gave me before he closed it.

* * *

So, here I am, bored out of my mind, searching for another matched pair of tiles. I hate it when this happens – I'll spend half an hour looking for a match only to discover that there aren't any more and I need to start over. God, I hope I don't have to start over; setting up this board is a bitch…

…

…

…

Alright, fuck it; I'll just review my taijutsu until Itachi gets here. I hate practicing what I've learned in front of my babysitters – it always feels sort of embarrassing. Sometimes somebody will be willing to run through a move _with_ me, but aside from that, this is the first real chance I've had to practice in my spare time.

I back into an empty area of floor, where I'll have enough room to move around without hitting anything, and take a stance. There's this one kick that Sasori's been trying to teach me – something particularly acrobatic involving a roundhouse kick and then a jump with a midair twist and back kick that I just _can't – quite – get. _

Alright, optimism…you've made it pretty damn far with your techniques in such a short period of time. Wherever you are, Mom, I hope you're happy. That month long hell of self defense classes you made me do really did pay off in the end. I'll bet you didn't quite have this in mind, but at least I got a small jumpstart on my ninja training.

…

Optimism failing, let's just do this.

Round kick is easy enough, but as soon as set my foot down, the trouble starts. Okay, so here I just have to bring my back leg forward but then spin the _opposite _direction and jump up and CRACK!

"Shitting fucking – GAH, my back! Ooooh, that wasn't supposed to bend that waaaaay…"

I hobble around the room for a second, doubled over and clutching my lower back like an old person in a cartoon, praying that Itachi doesn't come in to find me like this. There's something about a fourteen year old kid who could kill you with his pinkie walking in on you doing something stupid that tends to make one feel horribly inadequate…

Fortunately, he doesn't, and after a minute I manage to walk off the pain. Deciding to give up on the taijutsu practice, I sit back down and take another shot at my mahjong.

Bangai said that Itachi would be along in a few minutes…it's been ten. This isn't like any of the Akatsuki, to leave a gap like this…

I've just found a matching pair when suddenly, I _feel _something. Every sense goes on high alert in an instant, and I find myself more still than I've ever been in my life, one hand frozen over the mahjong board with a small square tile still grasped in my fingers. Behind me, at my window, I can feel something…warm? Pulsing? Like the heat of a fire, or the charged static in the air after a lightning storm. I feel it again from directly above me – the air duct? What the hell is…?

The wall behind me explodes, and my body snaps into action, darting out of the path of the flying rubble. I find myself very aware of the sharp edges of the tile under my fingers; about the size of a Scrabble letter, too small or blocky to use as a proper weapon, but all I've got on me at the moment. My mind lingers irritably on my weapons pouch, dangling from a hook in the dojo. Through the hole in the wall bursts the first man I've ever seen in this world…series…whatever who's _actually _dressed as a ninja; black mask and all. At the same time the air vent in my ceiling clatters to the floor, and out drops…Bangai? Okay, what hell?

"This is her?" says the Real Ninja, not taking his eyes off of me. It takes me until that moment to realize that I've taken a defensive stance, and that I'm holding the tile poised in my hand like a very small, square, useless shuriken.

How very threatening I must look.

"Yes," Bangai says, smirking at me. I _knew_ there was something off about him…

"…you're sure?" mutters the Real Ninja, sizing me up quizzically.

"Beyond a doubt – this is Akatsuki's secret weapon that Orochimaru-sama told us about."

…

Oh, _shit._

"She doesn't look like much," the Real Ninja says skeptically.

"Appearances aren't everything," says Bangai magnanimously. "I'm absolutely positive that this is her."

"If you say so…" concedes the real ninja, advancing on me with his katana poised.

"Come no closer!" I bark, sounding a good deal braver than I feel. I deepen my stance and grip the mahjong tile till my knuckles are white. Surprisingly, the Real Ninja stops in his tracks. Slowly, he lowers his sword.

"Do you really want to stay here?" he murmurs softly, catching me off guard. He holds out his arms and takes another slow step towards me. "Do you _want _to stay with the people who ruined your life?"

"What could you know about my life?" I snarl. "And I said no closer – I'm warning you!"

"I know that Akatsuki pulled you from your home and brought you to this world to further their plans – I know how you must hate them…" his eyes bore into mine. _'Yeah, why should I stay here?'_ A voice in the back of my mind growls. _'Why not take_ _this chance – get out of here and take back my life? Why not go with them?' _

"What attachment do you have to this place?" continues the Real Ninja, taking another cautious step towards me. "If you come with us…I'm sure our master could help you exact the revenge that the Akatsuki so deserves for what they did to you…" his voice is gentle…whispering…he's within arms reach now, extending a gloved hand to me…

Yes…revenge…revenge would be nice…and he seems to care for my feelings in this matter; more than the Akatsuki does anyway… I feel lulled; entranced; intoxicated with the idea of taking back my life and destroying Akatsuki before they even hit Canon…and yet…

_'More manipulations, you stupid shit – snap out of it!' _My voice of reason, shrill and furious and just a little bit too similar to my mother's dulcet tones, whacks my mental ass hard. _'They're no different from Akatsuki – all they want is what you know; they're not at all interested in upholding their end of any bargain you might make. What happened to having a bad feeling about Bangai? Trust your gut, dammit, your gut!'_

"Your master…is Orochimaru?" I ask slowly, as his fingers come within a hair's breadth from my cheek.

"Yes – his interests coincide with your-"

Real Ninja never finishes the sentence, because before he can I deliver a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. I overshoot my landing a bit, but that's okay, because he stumbled off to the side some anyway. Every muscle bunches and contracts with a seamless, otherworldly fluidity that I've only felt once before: when I cut off Orochimaru's hand. I bring up one knee, and leaping up with a twist, carry the momentum into a perfect flying back kick.

The overall execution of the move would have been a lot more incredible had the Real Ninja not caught my foot and thrown me into the far wall. Dazed and sluggish, I cough weakly, shake my head, and quickly stop; finding that it only makes the dizziness worse. A crunch of rubble underfoot clears my head and I look up to see Bangai, red in the face and stomping towards me; and under his advancing feet, several of my mahjong tiles. Which reminds me of the one that I still have miraculously clenched in my hand.

With a roar, I half surge and half stagger to my feet, whip back my arm, and fling the tile with as much clumsy brute force as I can muster. I don't know just what I was expecting to come of the desperate, haphazard attack, but it sure as hell wasn't a shriek of agony. I stumble to a halt, doubled over and arms swinging stupidly, and refocus my vision on Bangai, who stands with a grimace of pain and one hand clutched over his left eye. I hit him? Without even looking?

It's times like these that dumb luck pisses me the hell off…

Well, might as well enjoy it while it lasts, I decide; and with a savage scream I lunge towards the temporarily incapacitated ninja with the intent to bury my knee into his nutsack. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten the Real Ninja, who was still totally up for combat and therefore able to easily stop me and twist me into a full nelson.

"Fu-uck," I choke. I don't bother kicking – I'll only succeed in making myself look foolish and desperate.

"I think that's quite enough."

I wince as the Real Ninja whirls to face my door, dragging me with him. I wince even harder when I see Kakuzu, Konan, and Itachi all standing there, looking distinctly unhappy. Humiliation and fury, underscored by a half-secret sense of relief flood through my veins.

"What _took_ you so long?!" I blurt out angrily.

"Shut up, brat – you're lucky we're bothering to save you at all," Kakuzu sneers.

"Kakuzu…" Konan sighs with a long suffering exasperation that I had thought only my mother was capable of.

"You…how did you know?!" Bangai sputters.

"You blew my wall in, stupid; did you think no one would notice?"

"Shut up!" Bangai, the Real Ninja, and Kakuzu all chorus. I pout and slouch in my full nelson.

"The brat has a point, actually…" Once again I'm dragged in a circle as Real Ninja turns to face the hole in my wall, only to find Sasori standing amidst the rubble and looking mildly miffed. Somehow, against the backdrop of the dirty, humming city lights, he looks even more frightening just miffed than he would furious.

"What the – you were sent on a mission yesterday," cries Bangai, now sounding a bit hysterical at the prospect of facing off against four S-ranked criminals.

"My mission was to trail him," says Sasori coolly, jerking his head in my direction. It takes me a second to figure out he's talking about Real Ninja. A second after which I feel kinda dumb.

"We were on to you from the beginning," Itachi says coolly, his eyes glowing blood red in the dim light. "You didn't honestly think that we would leave our trump card so unprotected?"

_'Trump card?'_

Bangai growls and trembles with rage, and in a blur of motion his arm suddenly shoots up, holding a kunai close against my throat. I don't know if you've ever been held at knifepoint, but let me tell you, it's one of the most petrifying experiences you can go through – I find myself idly comparing it to being on top of the Sears Tower or a really high mountain. Suddenly, the simple act of maintaining balance while standing still is ridiculously difficult, and despite Real Ninja's death grip, I'm swaying on the spot.

"Well done," Bangai sneers. "You saw through us. As I'm sure you know, Orochimaru-sama sent us to retrieve the girl. But we have other orders should we fail-"

"Let me guess," Sasori breaks in. "If Orochimaru can't have Guen and the advantage she offers, he doesn't want anybody to; so should you fail to bring her to him, you have instructions to dispatch her."

The knife digs into my skin, and I can't stop the whimper that escapes my constricted throat. Real Ninja chortles.

"That's about the size of it," he drawls. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we'll be taking young Guen back home with us. If any of you make a move towards us, make no mistake, we _will_ kill her." Slowly, Real Ninja begins to back up, Bangai moving in perfect synchronization to keep the kunai poised.

As we move back towards the hole in the wall, an overpowering sense of hopelessness takes me. It seems no matter where I go or what I do, I'll never be more than somebody else's advantage – a _pawn_. And with this thought, a revelation strikes: I have no leverage. Even if I could barter my knowledge, it's only good for one try, and if any schmuck who comes along really wants it, they can just kidnap and torture me; assuming of course they can get around Akatsuki. But then again, that also applies to Akatsuki. I'm totally at their mercy, and despite me apparently being their _trump card,_ they don't even _want_ me here. I no longer have any control over my own life.

Excepting, perhaps, for how I die.

As the Akatsuki members grow further away, step by step, it hits me like a sledgehammer to the stomach. I quite literally have nothing left to lose. The only reason I'm alive is because a group of murderers and sadists want me to help make this world utterly miserable. This is all I have. This is my last dignity – my only revenge. Fuck these people – I'll die before I allow myself to be used.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I jerk my head forwards and twist it to the side. The bite of the paper-thin knife edge feels surreal, just breaching the delicate flesh of my throat. The icy steel is a strange juxtaposition to the hot blood that spurts out onto the stone floor and seeps down past my collar. As my vision tunnels, I see the Akatsuki dart into action. As I'm dropped to the floor to lie in the growing puddle of my own blood, I hear the ring of steel on steel and the thunder of battle cries. But I make myself ignore it.

Goodbye, Mom, Dad…I'm so sorry that you must have thought I was dead for so long, and been in pain, but…I think I'll be at peace now. I saved a world, so…you should be proud, y'know? I guess I'll see you soon. Guys…Rae, Mary, everyone…thank you all for being my extended family; my circle; my siblings. I wish we could have had more times together, and I'm sorry I had to leave. I hope you all can find it in your hearts to forgive me and move on.

Everyone…farewell.

* * *

Damn.

_Damn._

I mean, seriously…DAMN!

Yeah, I'm still fucking here. Apparently Bangai and the Real Ninja were such lightweights that Itachi, Kakuzu, Konan, and Sasori were able to take them down before I lost enough blood to go critical. Kakuzu said that he _could_ have patched me up so that I wouldn't have a scar, but that my actions were so utterly moronic that he thinks a little marring will teach me a lesson. When my only response was a silent glare, he backhanded me with enough force to give me whiplash for the next week and stormed out of the room, swearing under his breath.

_"Nyogashutouka!"_

I don't know either – probably some less-known curse or insult that Konan has had the good graces not to teach me.

Well, at least the scar won't be too bad – the cut was fairly shallow, another factor in the failure of my attempted act of self-sacrifice. It's been three days, and this is the first time I've gathered myself together enough to think about it properly. Since then I've had nurse Kakuzu in and out changing my bandages, Konan dropping by with bits of reading material, and on one occasion, Pein.

That was a fun chat.

Unsurprisingly, Pein already had a pretty good idea why I did what I did. In his words: "You resent us. You resent this organization, and you are coming to understand and resent the politics of the shinobi world. Rather than become another pawn, you decided to remove yourself from the picture. Am I right?" I had no choice but to agree – what was I supposed to do, claim it was no more than a troubled teenager's cry for help?

Before leaving me alone with my thoughts, Pein imparted this little tidbit to me. "You are not to attempt anything so foolish again so long as you are under my charge. If you have any shred of self respect, you will face your hardships and rise above them, instead of running away in the most cowardly of fashions. Let that scar on your neck be a reminder of this lesson."

All very well for him to say – him and his goons _are_ my fucking hardship. How the hell do I rise above _them?_ This blows…

Well, at least things are _kind of_ looking up today – the past couple of days I had to stay in a solitary medical ward, but apparently my wound's closed up enough that I can go back to my own room. Somehow, in that short amount of time, my wall's been repaired and the blood scrubbed from the floor and carpet. On top of that, Zetsu, who's been on a mission the last week or so, just got back and I guess was given the rundown of what happened, because either on orders from Pein or by his own volition, he's been keeping me company all afternoon.

Frankly, I don't care either way – I won't flatter myself and assume he likes me enough to volunteer guard duty immediately after a mission, but he's the closest thing I have to a friend at the moment, and he's been really cool about the whole thing. No pity, or fussing and coddling; just understanding. Well, at least, his white half has. Black half is of course making a point to tell me just how much of an idiot I am.

"I heard that you put up quite a fight before Itachi-san, Konan-san, Kakuzu-san, and Sasori-san stepped in to help you," he said a few hours ago over lunch. I snorted into my Udon.

"And how would you hear that?" I muttered bitterly. "I was left alone there for like five minutes." Zetsu looked surprised.

"You thought they'd left you alone?" he asked, sounding almost scandalized. I raised an eyebrow.

"Well yeah; I got kicked around good before they came in," I said.

"_**Idiot brat,**_" Zetsu's balck half muttered. "We knew Bangai was infiltrating us from the beginning," explained his white half. "The day before all of this happened, Sasori was sent to trail Bangai's partner; when it seemed they were preparing to make their move, he alerted Leader-sama and the others. As soon as Bangai came in claiming that Kakuzu-san had to leave you to go on an emergency mission, he knew what was happening." His black half picked it up from there-

"_**The Bangai who came to lure Kakuzu-san away was actually a shadow clone – the real Bangai had been in your air vents for a few hours, masking his chakra. What he didn't know was that Konan-san had the entire room under surveillance with hidden origami spies. **_So really, you were never in any danger," finished his light half.

"So _why_ did they _wait_ so long to _help me?!_" I gritted out, holding my chopsticks in such a grip that it's a miracle they didn't snap.

"According to Sasori-san, you seemed to be doing quite alright on your own for a few minutes there, _**until you tried to do something fancy and got beat into a wall for your troubles.**_" Added his dark half, unfazed by my ire. "Actually, Itachi-san said that it was quite the same as when you held your ground against Orochimaru."

I blinked in surprise. Sasori…complimented me? And for that matter, Itachi? But…they regard me with nothing but the utmost disdain! What is this world coming to?! I voiced my disbelief, and Zetsu chortled.

"Sasori-san is a strict teacher, and Itachi-san an unparalleled child prodigy – they are indeed difficult to impress, but they both claim that for all your shortcomings and inexperience, you have a good shinobi instinct." I lifted an eyebrow at that.

"Shinobi instinct?" I snort. "If you like to call it that – I just panicked both times. It was like…like my body moved itself. I don't know what happened…" Zetsu quirked a smile at me.

"It felt as natural as breathing," he said. "Like you had done it all before in a dream, and it all just came together as if you were moving in slow motion…right?"

"Yes, yes, a lot like that," I exclaimed – that was actually a pretty good way of putting it.

"That's shinobi instinct," he said. "It's the same for any talent, really – a writer doesn't think about what they write; it's like the words come from somewhere else, and all they do is channel something greater than themselves. An inventor pieces things together with an ease that most would find astonishing, but to them, it all just makes sense. A mathematician or scientist doesn't have to think about their formulas or calculations; they just come to them of their own volition. And to a person with a shinobi instinct, a tight situation triggers an ability to think fast and form attacks with little difficulty at all. And you, Guen-chan, have that instinct. _**Luckily enough.**_"

As he returned to his lunch (no, not human appendages, Udon, same as me; he can eat normal food when he's not disposing of corpses) I was left to ponder a couple things, which is what I've been doing up until this point, hence the mental journal entry. Firstly, I'm pretty sure this is the first time Zetsu has used an honorific on my name. I don't know exactly what to make of it, but…I dunno. Feels significant somehow…thought it was worth mentioning.

Secondly, it seems that I do have what it takes to make it in this world after all…hell, even Itachi thinks so. But the thing is, what do I do with that? I mean, what do I apply myself to now? I hate to say it, but…

What's my purpose?

…

Christ, I've been here too long. Already I'm starting to think like a Naruto character! I'm starting to think I really would be better off dead…

But seriously, what do I do? As much as I hate to admit it, Pein's right – running away from my problems isn't going to solve much of anything…but like I said, my "problems" happen to be several S-ranked criminals with otherworldly powers. Even if I do have "shinobi instinct," is it enough to help me overcome Akatsuki? And just like that, I realize that I've already resolved not to help them. Zetsu and Konan have been alright to me – Sasori too, in his own way I guess, but…I can't submit to their plans. I guess this would be a textbook situation of "love the sinner hate the sin."

Well, considering Orochimaru's recent departure, I'd say I've got about six, seven years before I have to really worry about this – until then, I hereby resolve to train my ass off and possibly, if I can, gain the power to escape Akatsuki and survive on my own. This isn't going to be easy, and I'm not sure why I even care enough about the characters that reside in this world to be so dead set on saving it, but I still stand by what I said before: I'll die before I allow myself to be used.

"Guen-chan?" see, there he goes again. I can't for the life of me figure out why that "-chan" feels so _weird,_ but…ah, crap, I've been clenching my fists in determination mid-epiphany. Well, at least this time I didn't pass out…

Zetsu looks at me with mild concern, and I hunt around for something to say – I can't very well tell him "hey, I just decided to accept your training and hospitality until such a time as I'm able to defeat and/or elude you!" Shit, change the subject, change the subject…

"What does 'Nyogashutouka' mean?" I blurt out. Well, it has been bothering me…

Zetsu blinks. "Where did you hear that?" he asks slowly. Was I right? Is it some kind of filthy curse word?

"When I woke up after what happened with Bangai, Kakuzu got angry with me and hit me and said 'Nyogashtouka.' I've been wondering…what does it mean?"

Zetsu stares at me for a second, then chuckles softly. "Most fitting…" he muses. "It means 'like a moth flying into the lamp's fire.' _**– it sums you up pretty well.**_"

Still barely proficient in the language as I am, half of the explanation is lost on me – all I really got was "like a," "lamp," and "fire." Zetsu tries again, this time including a bit of amusing pantomime.

"'Ga' is similar to 'chou' – like a butterfly, but they come out more at night, and aren't as colorful, and they are drawn to bright lights which burn them when they come too close _**– not unlike yourself; clumsy brat.**_"

"Wait…so then 'Ga' means moth?" I ask. Don't know why I bother – Zetsu doesn't speak any English. But it makes sense. So…basically what Kakuzu was saying was like some Japanese version of "curiosity killed the cat?"

…

"That _jerk_!" I shriek, piecing it together.

"Well you must admit, Guen-chan, you do seem to have a talent for wandering into unpleasant situations…" Zetsu says. I only really manage to get the gist of the sentence, but the gist is enough for me.

"That is bad luck!" I insist angrily.

"_**What about Orochimaru?**_" Zetsu's dark half points out. "Not to mention the fact that you're here in the first place," his white half chimes in.

"Bad luck!" I insist again. "It's Akatsuki's fault that I'm here, and I did not know what was going to happen with Orochimaru! And this time was all Akatsuki's fault as well, for using me for bait!"

"You didn't have to fight back," Zetsu points out, both sides of his face smirking. "If you had simply gone with them, the others would have caught up."

"Well if the others had told me what was going on - !"

"_**You shouldn't have underestimated Akatsuki,**_" interrupts his dark half. "_**The situation escalated to the point that it did because of the actions you took; and now you're bedridden with a cut throat, so what does that tell you?**_"

That isn't the point, I want to scream. It's not like I just wander through life in a stupid daze, bouncing off light bulbs until my eyes burn out – I don't get myself into these situations; it's like they seek me out or something! But at this point, I'm too mad to work out a cohesive rant, so instead I roll over with a huff and try to fall asleep.

Behind me I can hear Light Zetsu and Dark Zetsu holding a quiet debate under their breath.

"That was uncalled for, now you've made her angry…"

"_**The brat needs to learn not to let her emotions get the better of her; not to mention some common sense…**_"

The conversation continues, but I stop listening. Fuck this – fuck everything. If I hadn't had my mind made up before, I do now. I'm getting out of here. No matter what it takes…I'm getting my life back.

* * *

(A/N): alright, not half bad for length, and things are finally picking up, eh?

"Bangai" means "extra" – I thought it was fitting. And the difficult move Ga describes is a flying back kick, which is seriously one of the most convoluted martial arts moves I've ever had the misfortune to attempt.

I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can…so don't hold your breath =_=;; Please, please review and let me know how I'm doing. Questions, complaints, suggestions – I don't care, just please give me feedback!


	6. Oops

(A/N): A round of applause here, ladies and gents. What you are about to read is a massive milestone for me: my first ever chapter six! That's right, this is the first time I've ever managed to get a story past chapter five 8D

…Should I be admitting that?

. Hey look, a distraction!

But seriously, guys, the thing that's really gotten this story so far has been your support and encouragement, so give yourselves a pat on the back. Thank you all so much :)

* * *

FUCK! WHAT DO I DO, WHAT DO I DO?! OH, GOD, I'M GONNA DIE I'M GONNA DIE I'M GONNA DIIIIIIIE!!!!!

…Whoa, holy shit. I just started a mental journal entry and realized mid-panic that it's the first one I've done in like four months. Wait…

Alright, it was October in D.C. when I "died," but time works differently here, so it was like mid April here…

I started doing these entries like three months later so that waaaas July, I guess?

The Orochimaru thing was like, mid June…ish? I think?

And then the Bangai thing happened like a month or so after that, and my last entry was like a week after that, so... December now, so yea, about four months.

Meaning I've been living in a fictional universe for…Christ. Nine months. Also, I just realized it's almost Christmas.

…

Alright, you know what? This isn't making me feel better. Down to business.

Basically, after my little "Aha" moment after the Bangai incident, life got a whole lot easier. Say what you like about Kishimoto's annoying prevalent theme of "life purpose," but there's something to be said for having a clear path ahead to a dream that actually means something to you. Makes me wonder why I never bothered to set goals before…

Oh yea…because under normal circumstances I'm lazy as dirt.

Anyway. After that, I asked Konan to tell Pein I needed a word with him. She was a little weirded out that I would actually _ask_ to talk to the guy – you know, considering the fact that I hate him – but she told him and (I think to humor me), he agreed. We talked, and I told him that I wanted a more intensive training regimen.

Now I'd realized, not long after making up my mind about this matter, that I wouldn't be able to get this sudden change of heart past any of the Akatsuki – it wasn't like I could just tell them that I never wanted to be as helpless again as I was when Bangai attacked me or some shit. I mean, come on; it's sort of a weak lie. I couldn't suddenly decide that wanted in on their plot for world domination either – way too conspicuous.

So, I concluded that the best possible option was to be straight with Pein. I wasn't entirely sure how it would turn out, but what I did know was that Pein has very little respect or patience for politicians, and therefore would respond better to direct dealings than to sugary lawyer-speak and beating around the bush. Mind you, I still wasn't really expecting it to work – but I figured I'd try asking first, and assuming the answer was no work something out from there.

What I _wasn't_ expecting was that he wouldn't even bother asking why I wanted more intensive training in the first place.

Yeah. I just put it out there; "I want the crash-course," and instead of inquiring as to why, he just chortled and told me to work it out with the other members. Which was another issue entirely, but I digress.

So, for the past four months I've been making a massive nuisance out of myself trying to get someone, _anyone_ to help me train. Every moment that I wasn't training, I was reviewing or practicing in my room, and every moment I wasn't doing that, I was reading the dictionary in an effort to achieve language fluency.

Which brings us to my current problem. This morning, Sasori walked into the Dojo a half-step behind Pein. Nobody made any comment on this anomaly, no explanations were given; the two Akatsuki just walked in and sat down on the bench against the back wall.

Sasori ran me through my usual warmups, and then started drilling me like I've never been drilled before – I had to produce no less than five clones, transform into a decorative ficus, walk around the room – and I mean that literally: up one wall, across the ceiling, and down the opposite wall, and for the grand finale, I had to fight one of Sasori's more simple puppets.

Mind you, it still took me the better part of three hours. And I had some pretty interesting injuries afterwards.

So, still without a word as to what the hell Pein was even doing there, I was sent back to my room, where I was left with a couple of ANBU – something that's been happening more and more recently, with the rest of the organization busy most of the time. Actually, it was an ANBU who taught me the wall-walking trick – they're not usually very good company, but occasionally they can be talked into doing something interesting.

The rest of the morning passed without incident, until after lunch when Sasori dropped in and told me to follow him. Now, as you may remember, good things don't typically happen when I follow Sasori places, but what could I do? And so off we went, into the grand unknown…

Or, you know, five halls down to a mostly empty room. The room opened onto a rather pleasant little courtyard, but aside from that, it seemed to serve no other function; except perhaps for all of the Akatsuki currently at base and several assorted subordinates to gather – which they had.

Among said subordinates were a twelve year old boy with white hair and ludicrously massive spectacles, who I realized with a jolt of horror was Yakushi Kabuto, and a guy of totally indeterminable age with a swirly orange mask who I realized with an even bigger jolt of horror was Tobi, otherwise speculated to be Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Madara, or possibly both. I think I also saw the dudes from the Capture of Gaara arc who took Itachi and Kisame's places fighting Naruto and Lee's teams. Disturbing really, knowing that in nine years or so Zetsu will be feasting on their flesh…

Things didn't improve after that.

Pein informed me that, over the past four months, I have managed to achieve genin level proficiency in the ninja arts.

Then he presented me with an Amegakure headband, and the moment it was secured to my brow, slashed through the symbol with a kunai.

After which he told me that I was being inducted as a subordinate of Akatsuki, and would from here on out be under Zetsu's direct command, second only to his own.

Zetsu then proceeded to hand me a scroll containing mission specs and told me to pack light and be ready to go tomorrow morning at eight.

Which brings me back to my initial statement at the beginning of this entry:

FUCK!!!!!

I mean, this goes beyond just bad. The situation actually managed to get worse when I read the scroll: apparently, for my first mission, I'll be accompanying Zetsu and Tobi to negotiate some sort of business agreement in the Land of Claws.

It gets worse.

Not only am I going to be out in the world of cutthroat shinobi who can turn into plants and boulders and puddles and shit with a cannibal and a guy who could very possibly be one of the most evil human beings to ever walk the earth. The business agreement is supposed to be some sort of trade…protection…alliance…thing between Akatsuki and some big shipping tycoon. You may know the name.

Gato.

I mean seriously – _Gato?_ My first mission and it has to involve the Big Bad from the first fucking Arc? Well, at least I'm pretty sure Zabuza hasn't fallen in with him just yet…

But I mean…really? What if I fuck up canon without even meaning to? Was Gato even supposed to have allegiances to Akatsuki? Does it matter? Should I tell Pein that Gato ends up making an appearance later on, or…no, because what if he does something about it, finds out that Uzumaki Naruto will be in the Land of Waves in some seven years, prepubescent, friendless and admittedly a bit pathetic? And then what'll happen to me? My overall usefulness will be at an end, really, and I'm not powerful enough to stand on my own just yet.

Alright, you know what? I'm just going to stop worrying about this. I'm going to pack and go to sleep, and this will all work itself out in the end.

…Hopefully.

* * *

Alright, day one on the road – so far so (mostly) good.

Gato's operations are directed from a base in the Land of Claws, meaning that we'll be cutting through the Land of Fire to get there.

Joy.

This just keeps getting more fun.

Well, fortunately we're not out of Rain country just yet – we'll be crossing the border tomorrow morning. For tonight, we're staying at an inn. Well, at least…Tobi and I are staying in an in. Zetsu-sensei (as I'm trying to remember I'm supposed to call him) has morphed himself into a nice tree for the night, I suppose. Thank god he gave us enough cash to rent separate rooms; I do _not_ want to share sleeping space with (theoretically) the guy who ripped out his brother's eyeballs and shoved them in his own sockets.

At least the "Tobi" persona is amicable enough – he spent all day cajoling about making silly jokes and annoying the hell out of Dark Zetsu, much to my secretly infinite delight. Dark Zetsu's alright from time to time, but mostly he's just a douchebag know-it-all on a worse level than Kakuzu.

Hopefully Madara won't be popping out for a decent while yet – at least not in public. I really don't want to have to deal with him right now.

Anyway, for the time being, things aren't going too bad. Zetsu-sensei claims the negotiations should be civilized enough, so that's good to know. Not to mention…

_Onseeeeeen!!!_

Yep – this inn has a hot spring. Damn nice one, too. You know, I hadn't thought I'd like it – I have this issue with murky water. I like to be able to see where my feet are going, otherwise I keep expecting to kick something that may be living in the water or come across a waterlogged corpse, but the Onsen was actually very nice. The inn wasn't very packed either, so there weren't a lot of other women to cram around, and the thick, steamy water was incredibly soothing. Not to mention the glorious contrast to the frigid December air. By the time I was finished, I was almost convinced that being naked in public was entirely worth it…

Currently I'm busying myself trying to attach my Ame headband to a black bandanna that I managed to talk Zetsu-sensei into letting me buy in town – the standard issue blue cloth just wasn't doing it for me. Didn't really match any of my outfits.

…Mind you, all of my outfits are basic ensembles in black, grey and green, so my accessory choices are a smidge limited.

As my progress stands, I've managed to get the plate free of the fabric…mostly. A few stubborn bits of blue are still wedged into the fastenings. Wa…waaaaaait one second…

OH! Okay, well, that makes more sense then, doesn't it? Alright, so all I have to do really is to just unsnap these things and then poke those through the fabric and then screw those back on and…okay! Okay, let's see how that looks…

Fuck.

Off center…

* * *

Day two of the incredibly horrid journey.

We're like halfway through Fire country now – Zetsu-sensei and Tobi are attempting to instill in me some propensity for tree jumping. So far, it's going just like any other new physical feat – I'll do fairly well for a stretch, think I'm getting the hang of it, start thinking too hard, and lose my feet, thereby careening down to the earth and smashing into the undergrowth. Zetsu-sensei made Tobi stop trying to catch me around noon, deciding that if I was going to learn this, I was going to need some proper motivation.

And this inn doesn't have an onsen. Or two spare rooms. So I'm bunking with Tobi in a shitty little motel with a rusty shower, picking splinters out of my arms while he uses up all the hot water. At least I managed to get my bandanna straightened out yesterday.

Fortunately we haven't had any run-ins with Konoha shinobi; we're steering clear as we can from Leaf's borders.

…

Oh, Jesus, these sheets smell like sperm…

"I'm finished!" Tobi practically sings, prancing out of the bathroom fully clothed.

"Tobi-sempai, tell me you left me some hot water," I groan, stumping past him over the motheaten rug. In the event that the "Tobito" theory is true despite all evidence to the contrary, I feel somewhat bad for getting short with him, but I figure in any case it's good practice for Deidara.

"Of course I did, Ga-chan," he says defensively. "Tobi is a gentleman!"

"…Tobi-sempai…" my mind is still stuck a few words back, overriding any possible relief that there is some hot water after all. "What did you just call me?"

"Ga-chan," he repeats. "Zetsu-san told me that Kakuzu-san says you're like a little moth, always flying into things that'll burn you; so you're Ga-chan."

…

Fucking great.

* * *

Thank god, we're here. No more walking for about two weeks. We had to keep going till after dark, but we reached the town where Gato's headquarters are located at last. I'm dead tired, though…

Fortunately, one of Gato's little receptionist assistant type dudes showed us straight to the hotel. Speaking of which…

If our accommodations are anything to go by, it seems Zetsu-sensei is right about these negotiations going smoothly. I actually feel severely underdressed. For real, this place is Ritzy – we've got penthouse rooms, all connected, with Zetsu-sensei in between Tobi and me. And they have an onsen, thank god – that one night spoiled me, I'll admit. That damned rusty shower last night was torture. This onsen wasn't as nice as the one from that first inn; a little more crowded, but nice enough. Better than nothing, at least…

Our first meeting with Gato-san will be tomorrow around two and will be taking place over tea – yet more indication of peaceful intentions. I just hope it lasts…

* * *

I fucking hate men.

I mean, I always thought the scene in the Land of Waves arc where Gato tries to touch an unconscious Zabuza's face for no apparent reason hinted at a certain undertone of creepyness that wasn't really explored in further scenes. However, I did not expect him to rank just below _Orochi-fucking-maru_ on the freak scale.

It's not bad enough that he kept smirking and winking and leering all through the negotiations – of course not. I couldn't just ignore him and spend the rest of the mission looking forward to getting the hell out of here. Since when is my life that fucking easy?

No. Because Zetsu-_sensei_ has decided that it would be prudent to utilize Gato's obvious pedophilic attraction to me to our advantage. In other words, I have to flirt with a megalomaniacal shipping tycoon with a Napoleon Complex in order to fulfill the financial needs of my organization. Incredible how even in a world where shady political goals are carried out by assassins who possess otherworldly abilities, there's no escaping corporate sleaze. I guess things really are the same no matter where you go.

This place better have fucking room service…oh, thank god, a menu! Alright, I'm gonna go take a bath and then I'll order up.

* * *

Okay, I know I just updated like three hours ago, but I need to vent _now_!

I went to the onsen, I ordered up some comfort food from room service, and I turned on the TV – unfortunately, since basically no one in the elemental countries have a TV and it's considered a huge luxury, there's not really anything good to watch.

From what I've ascertained thus far, technology in this dimension is stuck in the, like, late seventies, early eighties-ish era. Except a lot of stuff is really rare – like a lot of people have radios, but TV is considered a big deal; and they've got handheld gaming systems, but they're really expensive and don't far surpass Pong.

Anyway, getting off topic – I gave up on the tube and instead pulled out a dime novel that Konan-sensei gave me a while ago, which I brought along for light reading – I'm not normally that in to romance, but I'm basically living fantasy, and my old life is what these people would consider sci-fi, so my genre options are sorta limited.

So there I am, sitting in my complimentary bathrobe reading about helpless, busty damsels clinging to the massive biceps of their uber-macho love interests when Zetsu-sensei barges in, _without knocking_, and tells me to get dressed because we're going out to get me fitted for some nice formal clothes.

Evidently Gato's holding some high toned and fancy to-do in honor of the arrival of his corporation's new (potential) allies, and while Tobi can get away with his black armor type thing and the most Zetsu needs to do is have his cloak cleaned, I evidently need to de-slobify.

I'm surrounded by chauvinist pigs.

And to think I actually used to like you.

That's right, you bi-persona dickheads, I'm not even going to _pretend_ I'm happy about this.

"Ooh, Ga-chan, Ga-chan!" not now, Tobi, not fucking now...

"How about this one, ne?"

"No."

"But…you didn't even look-"

"I'm not wearing a damn Kimono."

"Guen, it is a formal event, you need to-"

"Oh, _formal_ – you two are going in _your_ day clothes, why can't I wear mine?" probably not too polite, cutting off my sensei, but I'm angry.

"If not for us than for the mission – **how will Akatsuki look if we can't even dress one of our subordinates properly?**"

"How will Akatsuki look with a subordinate wrapped up like a piece of hard candy? Have you ever tried to move in a kimono? I'll be totally ineffectual!"

"And what kind of show of good faith would that be to Gato-san, if you feel the need to show up in combat gear?"

"_I'm. Not. Wearing. A. Dress_."

* * *

Alright, so we compromised. They convinced me to get a sleeveless Chinese style shirt, some loose silk pants and a pair of black slippers – I'm still mad that I'm the only one that has to dress up, but it's better than looking like a damn princess. Plus, the whole ensemble costs a lot less than a kimono and all the necessary trappings, so Kakuzu won't get pissed at us for wasting half our mission budget on clothes.

Actually, he'll still probably be pissed, but he's never happy, so who cares?.

All bitterness and humiliation aside, it's actually a pretty nice outfit – the shirt is dark purple with black edging, and the pants are black with a dark grey floral print, gathering in at the ankles. Though I'll never admit it out loud, I actually really like them.

Since there wasn't much else to do with today, I asked for a bit of cash and got a mani-petti, having my nails all painted the same plum color as the rest of the Akatsuki. I also got my hair trimmed and, realizing that I had a bit of change left over, snagged some cheap coverup and eyeliner.

Hey, if I'm dressing up, I might as well go all the way.

So, this dinner thing is in like twenty minutes, and my eyeliner is just…about…don-

"GA-CHAAAAAN!"

"Holy Christ!" Tobi, you little shit…

"Zetsu-san wants to know if you're done primping quite ye- _oooh…_"

We both stare at my reflection in the mirror in horror – the eyeliner I had been applying when Tobi barged in skidded off course in my surprise, sending a jagged black line of smeared makeup right into my hairline.

"_Tobiiiii_…" I steam, dropping the usual honorific in favor of a tone of long-suffering and barely checked rage. "Get _out_ of my room."

"Ah, Ga-chan…you're not angry, right?"

"_**OUT!!!!**_"

"YIPE!" Tobi darts out, slamming the door that leads to Zetsu-sensei's room behind him. Through the wall, I manage to catch a muffled, nervously giggling "Sh-she'll just be a few more minutes, Zetsu-san!" scowling in fury, I wad up a bit of toilet paper, run it under the sink, and begin to scrub furiously at the black mark on my face.

This night's going to be terrible.

* * *

Who called it?

That's right. Gwen called it. I knew no good would come of this.

Let me back up: my last entry was about 48 hours ago, and I haven't slept since. So why aren't I sleeping now, you ask, if I have the time to set a mental journal entry? Easy: I'm too scared.

The night of the party, Zetsu-sensei Tobi and I were invited to sit at the head table with Gato, and he spent the whole meal straight up flirting with me. And at a warning look from Zetsu-sensei, I had to flirt back. It was like that scene from Memoirs of a Geisha. After an otherwise very nice dinner, a small band with a random medley of eastern and western classical instruments surreptitiously set up in a corner and began playing, and everyone who felt like dancing moved to the center of the room.

Now, let me make one thing abundantly clear: I do not dance. I have no sense of rhythm and two left feet. It just doesn't happen.

Zetsu, unfortunately, disagreed with that sentiment. At least, he did when Gato asked me to waltz.

Protesting that I don't know how to waltz only made it worse – Gato was just a little too eager volunteering to teach me.

Have you ever tried to dance with someone at least two feet shorter than you?

As you may imagine, it sucks.

Now I'll admit the next part was, in a way, my fault – I really should have seen it coming and had the presence of mind to avoid it in the first place, but I digress. As I tripped along through the music, stumbling and yelping and desperately apologizing (something which Gato found incredibly endearing), I failed to notice that we were moving continuously towards a hidden, secluded little alcove.

If you're hoping this isn't going where you think it's going, it is.

Several minutes in, after a particularly spectacular stumble that almost sent me careening into another couple and creating a domino effect, Gato suggested we take a break, and led me over to the aforementioned alcove.

Due to my intense desire to not dwell on the next part, I'll just leave this at "then he made a concerted effort to molest me."

Nothing happened, I mean, he didn't…_get_ anywhere, but…gugh, just thinking about it gives me chills. Anyway, moving on.

Needless to say, Gato wasn't very happy about being punched in the face, or my knee digging into his balls, or being strangled.

His lackeys weren't very happy about it either.

I'm fairly sure most of them were convicts up until very recently.

So, through a series of events that included Zetsu attempting to negotiate with a furious Gato and salvage the contract, me half hiding behind Zetsu and throwing an absolute conniption, and Tobi trying to shut me up and hustle me towards the door, we wound up having to scatter and make a break for it.

I really don't feel like going into details.

Thing is, this entire village is run by Gato, so my options for hiding are pretty slim – I've been lucky to make it as long as I have. But yea, that's why I haven't slept in two days. At the moment I'm in an alley in some guy's wood box, hiding under the logs. I wish I could sneak back into the hotel and get my hoodie – it's cold as balls out. Thankfully the wood box keeps out the worst of the wind.

Man, this sucks. The nicest outfit I've ever owned is basically ruined, I've had to beat up and evade no less than five massive thugs in the past two days, and I have yet to see hide or hair of Zetsu or Tobi. Fuckers are probably already back in Ame wondering when I'll catch up.

Wait…shit, those are footsteps. Fucking hell, how's that for common sense? Of course whoever owns this wood box will be using it in the middle of friggin _winter._

I'm fucked.

Goodbye cruel world.

* * *

(A/N): Haha! Cliffhanger! I know you all hate me now. Make sure to review and tell me so ;p I have something really special planned for next chapter, so don't feel too bad. I actually can't wait to write it.

Sorry for the shortness, but the next scene just couldn't reasonably fit. Hope you enjoyed!

P.S. – anyone who caught the Pirates of the Caribbean reference in there is officially a bigger nerd than me. Haha! I win!


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